Living Conditions
by sweetprincipale
Summary: Set in early S. 3 with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut.
1. Chapter 1

Living Conditions

By Sweetprincipale

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: Now, before any regular readers shout at me to hurry up and work on Unknown, let me tell you about a pattern I observe in myself. Whenever I finish a long, novel length piece (You an' Me Against the World) I have to write a short story before diving into big pieces again. It clears the writing clutter from my overheated brain. So please bear with me, I promise I didn't forget my other pieces._

_Author's Third Note: This chapter sets the premise and is heavy on the details. Skim if you gotta._

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

Part I

"You're not serious? Oh, c'mon, you've got to be kidding me!" Buffy sat down in her red checkered uniform with a groan, an official looking piece of paper swimming in front of her eyes- and immediately got back up. The floor wasn't exactly spotless. The whole place was slum bait. But she'd never cared about that before. She just needed a place to lie down and not get rained on, that was really all she wanted, all she felt she deserved anymore. And now they were taking that away.

"Condemned. Los Angeles County Sheriff's Office..." The rest of the words were a blur until the end. "Vacate the premises within five days of receipt of this notice." Buffy sank onto the bed and curled up into a ball.

_I could go home. No. She told me not to come back. She hates me. She's angry. I could go to-_ No, she couldn't go to the one person she wanted to, the one who'd made her feel safe and loved. He was dead. She'd killed him. Just as he came back to life. Buffy drew her knees in further and sobbed. She'd been doing that more lately. At first she was too hollow to feel anything, to even cry. It was like lead where her heart should beat. But now- every day was another little reminder that she was still here, and her life wasn't. Just was full of nothing, full of empty. It wasn't coming back. She wanted to be whole inside and someone took away all the pieces. All that was left was this big pile of tears that would force their way out on occasion.

The tears came like flash floods, only when she was safely alone. Five minutes of sobbing so hard she thought her heart might finally get washed out and she'd end it all, finally end it, die of grief- and that dogged strength would kick back in. _Stupid human spirit. So handy as a slayer, so annoying as someone who wants to give up._

Buffy pulled herself wearily to a sitting position. She couldn't believe how tired she was. She would have laughed in your face a few months ago if you told her waitressing could be more exhausting than slaying. But it was tedious. You never sat, you always stood, you couldn't even lash out, run, jump, use other muscles. She was soft and lifeless, a wilted flower, and she didn't care. Except right now when she realized her feet hurt in strange places, simply from standing. Shouldn't slayer power combat that? No, not if you weren't a slayer anymore. _Which I am so not. Never will be again._ She didn't have a phone in her closet sized apartment, so after getting out of the horrid red and white uniform she put on one of her other handful of outfits, jeans, a simple plain white shirt- her anonymous wear- and hit the street in search of a pay phone. Scrounging for quarters left over from tips, she fed the machine and called the toll free number on the bottom of the letter she'd found tacked to her door that afternoon.

"Public Housing Authority."

"Hi. I-"

"For current residents of Public Housing Authority public housing projects, please press one. For inquiries about previously reported complaints, press two. For-"

Buffy laid her head on top of the phone box, listened for options, feeding the computer chipped voice quarter after quarter of her hard earned money. Finally, she was able to make a selection to talk to a real person. Not a terribly helpful real person, but ...

"Good evening, this is the PHA, how can I help you?"

"I got a letter saying I have to leave my apartment in five days." Buffy informed the droning voice in a soft, puzzled tone.

"What is your address?"

"501 Hanfield."

"You're not arrears in your rent-"

"I know!" _I make nothing, I buy nothing, but I pay my rent. Sometimes I have enough to pay for the fun stuff like soap and laundry powder, too._

"-it's simply that several buildings did not past the annual inspections done in Los Angeles County. Your housing was on Hanfield? Hanfield, Hanfield, yes... your dwelling is noncompliant with seventeen different health and safety inspection codes. It's condemned until brought up to the codes required by this authority."

Buffy felt anger churn in her stomach. _You just now noticed that? Did the landlord miss his bribe payments? It's not my fault, I didn't infest it with bugs and mess up the wiring and plumbing and everything else! What about us, the poor residents? Five days to find an apartment I can afford that's not going to get immediately closed down, where they don't look too hard at my fake ID and will take cash on a Friday instead of a check and proof of address? _Just as quickly as anger rose, it died. What did it matter if she lived on the street, really? She'd survive. She couldn't seem to stop herself from doing that. "What am I supposed to do?" She asked in a tired voice.

"You show that letter at the Housing Authority office and they will put you on the top of the list for one of the rent controlled properties in the area."

"I can't really afford those places. I looked." Buffy felt more hopeless by the second. She'd ended up in the now condemned filth pit because she couldn't afford anything else, and other, nicer, legally run apartment houses had that pesky habit of asking for some legal proof of identification. So she lived in squalor and worked at a greasy spoon where the manager paid under the table and the turn over rate for her staff was high.

"You have the option to rent an apartment and apply for roommate matching to split the cost. There's no fee to use the matching service. If you can't be matched, you may pay one week's rent at the current cost of your old rental property and stay there while looking for another place you can afford. That's the best we can do. I'm going to tell you the address of the PHA nearest your current address. They open tomorrow morning at 8:00. Here is the address-"

Buffy closed her eyes as the woman rattled it off. She didn't have a pen. Or anything to write with. And she sucked at directions. "Thank-" there was a sharp click in her ear, "you."

She dragged herself back inside. She stood under the lukewarm water and then stared at the single bulb above her bed until she fell asleep.

When she dreamed, there was warmth, and light, and laughter. Sunset on a beach, Angel's arms around her. "How did you find me here?" She'd made sure no one could find her, changed her name, her attitude, her life. And he still found her. Because they had true love. Buffy smiled contentedly in her sleep and whispered in an imaginary ear.

" If I was blind, I would see you." His husky voice reassured her.

"Stay with me."

" Forever. That's the whole point. I'll never leave." The husky voice dropped to a mere whisper, intimate, just for her. "Not even if you kill me."

Buffy's sweet smile of repose gradually became dismayed, then outright upset. "Why would I-"

"Ghhh!" Angel's form suddenly doubled over hers, and he was sucked into the waves as they changed from calm lapping brushes against their feet to a torrent of fierce black and red light. A portal. "Buffy." He croaked.

And then he was gone. Buffy's eyes flew open.

Daylight. _Just a dream._

_ How can it be just a dream if it really happened? _

Tears threatened to erupt spontaneously. They didn't emerge. It was like watching someone slip a mask over the young girl's face. There had been one wild-eyed second of fear and confusion- and now there was clay. Carved clay, empty eyes, a death mask worn by a member of the living community.

"Work. Then- house stuff." Buffy stumbled into her uniform and out the door, one foot in front of the other.

* * *

Spike tripped over his own feet as he crashed into the dank little flat of the man he'd had for dinner. He belched uncomfortably. He was living on alcohol more than blood lately. Speaking of which- he lurched to his feet, and rummaged through the tiny fridge and the dilapidated cupboards. Bloke had tasted like an alcoholic, blood was saturated with it, there must be some somewhere...

"Oh, yes. Jackpot." Spike lifted the bottle of rotgut from under the sink, wiped it off with his hand, and began prying the top off. His insides complained at the first sip, and that took some doing for a vampire. He didn't care. Drink calmed the pain. Well, it shut it the bloody fuck up, at least.

"Look at me now, Dru. You see me in your batty little mind, Princess?" He sneered at the ceiling. "A mansion in Buenos Aires to a shit heap in LA in two easy steps." He swigged heavily and collapsed onto a couch. A rat squeaked and skittered out from under it. "Piss off!" Spike slurred and kicked a cushion after it. "My shit heap, _not_ yours. Or I'll eat you for afters." He told the rodent. "Not yours, either." He sneered at the corpse in the corner. "Not anymore. That's life. You have somethin'. Someone else takes it." He drained half the bottle in one long series of gulps without pause. Like Dru. His. Then Angelus' took her. Then she left him. Didn't even have the decency to kill him, just left him. Said she hoped they might see one another someday. Be friends.

"We can't be friends, you stupid bitch! Not when you keep doin' this to me!" He howled. "Bitch! Stupid-" The howling broke off with a stifled sob. "Why'd you leave me, Baby? Wasn't I makin' you happy?"

Soon the bottle was empty, and Spike was drifting off to sleep on the couch of the drunk he'd followed home from the bar. That had been what he was doing since he came to Los Angeles a week or so ago. He hated this city. He didn't like the way the vamps in this city rolled. Too much like Angelus for his taste.

Spike came awake again with a snarl of hatred. His fault. All his fault, Angelus and his finery and frippery. Way he bred Drusilla to love the finer things, to live in mansions instead of in hiding, live like royalty instead of like demons. Not that he objected to that, not when he was with his princess. Give her what she wanted. Give her the world, quite literally, for all the good it did him.

"Save the world, an' you ask for the stars instead. A man can't fly without his beautiful black swan to ride upon...That rhymes. Poetry never did me any bloody good..." Spike looked heavenwards. How she could see the stars through ceilings, how she'd see angels aflame. _Like to flame a certain Angelus, that's for damn sure._ Spike rolled over, and promptly fell off the couch, earning a chorus of startled squeaks and scurrying.

With a shout, he leapt back up, looked around in annoyance and sat back down, arms crossed, staring at the sunlight as it began to show through the newspaper curtains taped to the windows. "Ought to be underground. Sewers. Warehouses. Bellies of ships even. But not in bleedin' LA, no, vamps mix in here. Vamps walk with the humans, blend with the crowd." _Unless you want to fight, prove you're the biggest and the baddest. _Spike put his head in his hands and sobbed. That was the first time he'd realized how far gone he was. He didn't want to fight. He didn't give a damn about his superiority as nastiest set of fangs in a century, Slayer of Slayers, vampire with one hell of a reputation. "Nothin' left to fight for without her." He whispered wetly. He finally fell asleep.

* * *

Buffy shuffled from the bus to the small, depressed looking building. It had that bureaucratic sense of futility somehow imbedded in the concrete facade. Once inside, she stared at the black boards with their white arrangeable letter tiles until she could sort them out into words that equalled departments. Feeling more dead than alive, especially since she'd come straight from her 7-4 pm shift at the diner, she climbed three flights of stairs to present her letter to the Public Housing Authority's Southern Central Los Angeles Housing Center.

"Hi. Um. I talked to someone last night and she told me to come here to see about rental properties?" Buffy murmured nervously when she finally got to the front of the line.

"Address?" The woman at the front desk seemed slightly bored by it all, didn't even look up at the girl from behind the inch thick glass that kept her apart from the masses.

"501 Hanfield."

"Oh yes. You're the third one today. I'm sorry, there's a very long list, and even with priority, there's not a lot of options left."

"Okay." Buffy shrugged.

The woman looked up from her forms and computer screens. She saw hopeless people all the time. But usually not someone so young. So young and so beautiful, even fresh faced, but so world weary. _Even my eyes don't have that many circles under them._

"You have a lot of furniture?"

Buffy seemed to momentarily come alive. "None."

"Boyfriend? Kids? Parents?"

"Just me." Buffy's voice cracked suddenly and she cleared it. "Sorry. No, just me." She repeated more firmly, eyes flickering away. _I killed my boyfriend. We never would have had kids. My mom threw me out. My dad isn't around. I could stay with him if things got bad, but then he'd tell Mom. She'd find me. They'd all find me, I'd have to face them. Face Giles. Willow. What happened to them, it's all my fault... _

"Just you and your personal possessions?" The clerk didn't feel pity, because it'd never work to feel pity in her job._ Everybody has their sad story, you know that's true._ But still. This little thing, she didn't seem too far gone, just drifting. Wouldn't take too much effort to give her a few little nudges. "You should try the roommate match up. You could save some money, get yourself a nicer place faster. They have furnished units, too, not many of them right now, but you do get priority because your residence is condemned, which means you're considered no-fault, no-risk."

_Oh, if only you knew about the amount of risks and faults._ Buffy just nodded, eyes widening as she tried to pay attention to something outside of her small, closeted self for the first time in weeks. Waitressing was easy. You had a little pad, and the menu only had thirty items. She could remember thirty items, with the help of the little pad, anyway.

"Take the roommate match up application, fill it out, and come back in-" the lady scanned the paper, "come back in three days. We'll have something by then." She handed her a form and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't get too picky, Honey. Picky people don't get matched."

Buffy nodded again, and walked to one of the small tables in the corner of the office. She quickly walked back. "Can I borrow a pen, please?"

Buffy scanned the paper. A page for lies. She was good at them now, and she no longer really considered anything she said a lie, merely different shades of survival.

Name:Anne Smith _Buffy. My real name sounds more fake than my fake name. So no harm done, right?_

Contact Information: N/A _I don't have a phone. I'm about to lose my address and they already know that. _

Age: 18 _Okay, seventeen, but not a lie. I'm an adult. I must be. Mom thinks I can live on my own, or she wouldn't have told me never to come back. The people in charge of the universe made me a slayer which means i'm going to die young anyway. What's another year thrown on, they're sure not handing out time. In this city, everyone's 18 and up, or you don't get to be any older._

Gender: Female

Roommate Gender preference: None. _I don't care. Why would I care? It's a person who I'm not going to talk to except to say pay your rent or I'll kill you. _

Age range: None. _I'm the last person to talk about age range. I'm a seventeen year old dating a guy who lived through a bicentennial._ She blinked hastily. _Well, used to date. _

Do you smoke? Do you mind if your roommate smokes?: I don't and I don't care.

What are you looking for in a roommate?: I don't want a friend, I want a roommate. I want someone who pays their half of the bills on time, doesn't eat my food out of the fridge, and doesn't care what hours I work, and doesn't ask a lot of questions

Describe Yourself:

Buffy balked. _I'm a failure and I killed the man I loved. I believe in vampires and witches. Sometimes I think the last few years have been a bad dream, and maybe I should be in some nice padded cell. I don't want to describe myself. I hate myself. _

Describe Yourself:

It was the last question on the paper, and no matter how hard she stared, it refused to vanish off the page. She gripped the pen and just let her hand fly. She wrote what she felt. The basics. Because she only needed the basics, and she was never going to be close to anyone ever again, so why tell them more?

Describe Yourself: I'm a night owl. I like to sleep in when I can- so I don't want someone who blares music all the time. I'm quiet, I don't party, I pay my way, I take care of myself. I work, I come home.

Her pen skidded as she placed a period at the end. Thoughts of her old life kept trying to force their way into the ink, but she put the pen down firmly.

_ I used to like to go to dance clubs. I used to like shopping, I used to love hanging out with my friends. I used to work out. Go to the library. Watch movies with my mom. Study with my friends. Cheerlead. Get manicures and pedicures and go to salons... I don't do that at all anymore. I don't do anything anymore._

She read the paper over. _I sound like a robot. Or a drone. Like I'm nothing and no one. Well- good. _

Buffy sealed the application and handed it into the woman at the desk. She walked out without a backwards glance, hurrying home before darkness fell.

* * *

Only the preternatural awareness of darkness was enough to get Spike out of his drunken stupor. As night came over the city completely, Spike stretched, snarled, and lifted his head. It pounded, but he knew what would fix it. Little hair of the wolf that bit him. He chuckled and shuffled over to the body of the apartment's previous owner. Reaching inside his tattered pocket, he took out his wallet and saw what he'd gotten.

"Dear, dear. Not too prosperous, were you?" Spike asked the still form, pulling out a few crumpled dollar bills and some papers. "Oh, well. I don't need a lot, just enough to make the blinding pain stop."

Spike made his way out of the flat and headed for the liquor store. He'd only been in this area a few days, but he had his routine. It wasn't the routine he wanted, but as life had so recently shown him, he didn't _get_ what he wanted. His night consisted of get drunk, find a target as a bar closed, follow the target to their door- pounce. Eat, take the wallet, take the keys, and get inside. Sleep out of the sun and in the evening do it again.

That was hunting. That was true survival and he liked it. If he didn't make the right kill, he would be scrambling to avoid the sun. Each kill really meant his continued existence. But there were risks involved, risks he didn't like, because he knew he was at the lowest point of his game, sloppy and heartbroken, the risk of being caught in the sun almost a pleasant thing to consider, an end to his misery. He wouldn't cheat death for long, not like that. He'd already escaped eternity once, he wouldn't be so long a second time.

One night he'd follow the wrong person home. A person who didn't live alone, maybe, and then dead or not, he wouldn't be able to enter the house because a living soul still remained there and hadn't issued the invitation. Or he'd follow the mark to a friend's house, or one of those upscale locked-lobby places, technically the lobby was public, but past that- ohhh, his head hurt from all this bloody thinking.

The booze didn't help, but he knew that wasn't the only reason he felt like he was moving through treacle. He hadn't thought for just his own welfare in so long. He was rusty at basic survival, he was good at setting up dark little castles, not exactly opulent, but always a posh room or two for his demonic ladylove. Feeding her, getting minions to attend to the day to day business while he planned his next massacre, next brawl that made him a legend, trailed enemies or Slayers.

"Y'know what it is?" Spike said abruptly to the gentleman next to him in the liquor store.

"Me?" The man backed away warily.

"Yeah, you. I'm a people person. Love 'em. All kinds. 'Sepcially the younger ones." He sighed. "Family man, me. Not good at bein' on my own."

"Divorce?" The guy felt some sympathy, a scared and weirded out sympathy though it was.

"Separated. She left me for another- she left me."

"Oh, buddy. That sucks."

"Doesn't it?" Spike pulled several bottles off the shelf and hugged them to his chest. "Now it's jus' the four of us." He looked at the three bottles in his arms. "All alone in the world..."

"Oh. It happens a lot these days."

"Not to us!" Spike cried, flinging his arm out, nearly knocking out a display rack. "Together for decades! Oh sure, there were a few little jaunts she went on, but I was always there to bring her back! Now she doesn't want to be brought back. Wants to be _friends_! Soddin' friends!"

"I hate when chicks do that." Spike's unlikely comrade agreed, although now convinced the man wasn't all there. He couldn't be more than thirty, yet he spoke of decades with this nameless unfaithful female.

"Sound like a fellow sufferer." Spike sized him up. _Graying, fifties. Ergh. Hate mutton. Buyin' somethin' cheap. Wine, but only one bottle, a little ratty looking- dammit. Wedding ring! You're off the menu, pops._

"Oh, my first wife did that. But it was the seventies, flower children. Peace, love, and neither of us knew how to balance a checkbook." He chuckled. "Got lucky the second time. You will too."

Spike stalked away with a curt nod, mumbling to himself. "There won't be a second time. Won't be anymore time at all if I don't get myself sorted." He paid for the bottles, pounding a wad of cash down and waiting for his change. Off to the parks and the bars and the backstreets he supposed. Oh, he loved the hunt, loved the stalking, and the baiting, and the kill. What he didn't like was having a new nest every night. He'd gotten soft, he admitted it. Not his fault that humans had these curious habits of checking up on each other when they didn't turn up to work or appointments or whatever. Never could be sure he wouldn't be discovered, and though he liked to gamble, he preferred better odds as a rule. So now he'd always be on the move. He'd learn to like it, he supposed. Or he'd dust. Without Drusilla, dusting often seemed the most preferable option.

"Sir! Sir! You dropped this." The cashier was following him from the store.

"Not mine." Spike didn't have any official-looking typed up papers. Great perk of being a vamp. You didn't get annoying mail or fill out annoying forms. You got asked for ID and if you didn't have a fake handy- you just bit the jerk asking the questions.

"It came out of your wallet." The paper was pushed into his hand before he could protest further.

"Not my wallet, last night's main course's wallet." Spike unfolded the paper and considered the information he saw.

* * *

"Public Housing Authority."

"Finally! How many computers had to die to make that automated menu rubbish?"

"What is the nature of your call, Sir?" The voice was dour and humorless.

Spike strongly suspected he was talking to a human hybrid, probably sired by the electronic voice and one of the blokes from the DMV. "I've gotten this notice to vacate my flat, an' I'm very upset! Distraught." He laid it on thick, a devilish giggle waiting to burst out. Fancy him, manipulating the system. Oh God. He'd sunk so low, playing human games...

"Yes, Sir. What's your address?"

"Uh..." Spike flipped the paper about until he saw it on the front. "226 Buena Park."

""You're not arrears in your rent-"

"Well, that's good to know." He muttered. He spoke into the battered handset in his temporary apartment. The last owner was now out back in the dumpster, and it was just him, a few slugs of Jack Daniel's wannabe, and a few persistent rodents. "So why'm I gettin' the shove?"

"It's not just you, Sir." The voice said in a patient, plodding tone. "Several buildings did not pass the annual inspections done in Los Angeles County. The housing on Buena Park will need to be brought up to code in wiring and septic before you can move back in."

"Well- blimey! How long does that take?"

"Depends on your landlord, Sir."

"Well, in the meantime, what do I do? Just found this letter, an' according to it I've got three days to get out or you'll chuck me out!"

"You take the letter to the nearest Housing Authority office and you apply for one of the rent controlled properties. There's a very long list, but because the city is the one causing your temporary displacement-"

"Fancy way of sayin' makin' a fella homeless."

"-you will receive priority." The voice continued as programed. "If you cannot afford the cost of the PHA's recommended housing without assistance, you can apply to be matched with a roommate to help split costs. There is no fee to use the matching service. If they are unable to find a match, you may pay one week's rent at the current cost of your old rental property and stay there while looking for another place you can afford. I have the address of the Housing Authority office closest to you. They open tomorrow morning at 8:00. Let me give you the address."

Spike hung up with a thoughtful expression. The meals he had didn't exactly come with hefty bonuses. But he had enough to make it on his own, or keep playing his risky nightly hunting, daily nesting game. The idea of applying for a roommate was pure lunacy on a million levels. The only one that stood out to him in his sloshed state wasn't the fact that he could hardly live with a human without instantly betraying his true nature. No, it was that he abhorred the thought of living with another, any other being. It would just be a galling reminder that he should be living with his wicked night goddess, and instead he was stuck with some breathing troglodyte, at least if the tenants around here were anything to go by.

On the other hand- what if he got the place, and played it like these LA vamps, blending in with the fresh produce, so to speak? Apply for the flat, even the roommate, and presto- first month taken care of, and a free meal with purchase. If he was the one living there, signed up and all- he couldn't be disinvited. If someone came looking for the roommate, he could make excuses for awhile, then ditch if he had to. But in the best outcome, he'd get a month to clear his head, sort himself out, and figure out how to win back Dru or cast himself to the sunlight.

Well. It was worth a try. Didn't have anything better to do with his life now, anyway. He laid back on the couch, drinking the last of his amber colored meal. He hadn't bothered to hunt. He was weak, and he was disoriented, and he didn't care. If the windows hadn't already been papered over, he'd have slept right there in the sun. He distracted himself for a few hours at a time, forced himself to think, plot, plan. It was all he'd done for so long, especially since Dru got sick and depended on him totally. Now no one and nothing relied on him. The distraction always wore off, and dawn always found him in the same positions- sobbing himself to sleep or drunk enough not to remember the reasons he should be crying.

* * *

"Got this form to fill out some other form. Probably then I'll win a grand prize and get yet one more piece of paper, yeah?" Spike was the last customer in the Public Housing Authority's Southern Central Los Angeles Housing Center. He flipped the notice of eviction in front of the tired looking woman on the other side of the bullet proof glass partition.

"226 Buena Park. I wish they'd space these closings out." She sighed. "There's not a lot we can do at this point. You're gonna have to do the shared rental space or go outside our listings."

"I might be interested in sharing. How's it work?" Spike asked nonchalantly.

"Do you have a family? Children?"

"Separated." Spike's voice suddenly lost its ebullient edge and turned hoarse. "This is a bad idea. I got-"

"Do you have a lot of furniture?"

"Skint, Ducks. No furniture. Nothing. Oh, except I could probably pay what you're asking, not flat broke. Not yet."

_Weary, hopeless eyes, smart ass front. Tough guy. Look at the clothes, the shifty, cool face, way he carries his shoulders. Bad guy. But watch him try to back away, and he just looks like he doesn't give a damn if he lives or dies. Maybe he doesn't have anything left to loose. Sometimes those people were the most grateful. _"Take this form. You have to be out in two days, so come back here by then to check. If you're not matched, we can refer you to shelters, temporary-"

"I don't need a shelter." He snatched the roommate application form. "If I don't get matched, I don't get matched. Might as well try though, it'd be a damn sight more convenient than bursting into flames." He stalked off to the corner table and began scribbling away. The clerk stared after him with worried eyes, but he didn't care.

Name: William _ William what? I'm not William Pratt. Oh, I'm a prat, but not going to use that name and shame my mother. Don't want to tip my hand to anyone where I am either. The master vampire, the Slayer of Slayers, mateless and homeless and minionless... Something nice and anonymous. William Smith. Or Jones. Oh Mum would hate that, too. Smythe, not Smith._

Name: William Smythe.

Contact Information: None

Age: 28 _Well, at least according to the eyes._

Gender: Male

Roommate Gender Preference: _Hmm. Women are softer, usually easier to get a good grip on, bite down better, but men you can get more blood out of, and the way things've been going...But that's not always the case. I could get a scrawny little bloke or one of those amazonian women. Just be neutral. It's just a meal. No, it's a meal and a place to kip for a month or 'til the landlord asks too many questions._ He wrote "No preference."

Age range: 18-40. _Nothing too old. Forty is pushing it, but beggars can't be choosers. Veal person myself. And Dru- Dru always used to say the wrinklies got stuck in her teeth. Oh God, Princess. I brought you so many beautiful young belles and you were the most beautiful of all. And did you care? No, you prattled on about what's not true, me and some girl I did one deal with, screamin' at me while you pine for your "dear daddy". I should've been screamin' at you, but you never did understand why it was wrong. He taught you to open your legs and you've always been a fast learner, my sweet, smart, black angel. Thought after a century I might've taught you to keep your heart just for me. But no. _

Spike grunted away the emotion threatening to make him bash the tables against the walls or just start weeping and cursing. He refocused on the application.

Do you smoke/ do you mind if your roommate smokes?: I do and I don't care.

What are you looking for in a roommate?: _Food, but I can't say that. A patsy, but I can't say that either. _

What are you looking for in a roommate?: Someone to pay half the expenses. Not looking for a friend, just a roommate. A simple, he paused his pen and smirked to himself- simple business arrangement.

Describe yourself: I work nights. I like my space.I'm a people person- but don't like to get too involved in anyone's life._ No point when you just kill 'em anyway._

Spike read it over. _I sound nice and vague, I don't stand out. Impersonal._

He smiled silently and sealed it. _Well, good. I'm not a person._ He tossed it on the clerk's desk and left, going to begin his prowl now that dusk had settled.

* * *

"Jane? These people have four kids."

"Put them in a two bedroom."

"We can't do that."

"We have to do that."

"Okay. On your head be it if they complain about overcrowding."

"On your head be it if those kids have to be out on the street in a day. Do you know what kind of freaks are out there?"

"Alright, Alright, St. Jane of the PHA. That's the last family with kids. All the seniors, too."

"Singles and marrieds?"

"I'll take marrieds and partners, you take singles."

"Good." Jane secretly hoped for that assignment. She didn't usually get too involved in the long lines of people she saw each day, but that one girl had stood out to her. She'd also been in at the beginning of the week, she was almost on the top of the stack now. Anne something. She'd seen it on her name tag. She guessed the girl had come straight from work.

Jane had to do this sort of thing at least once a year, and she was quick at it. She sorted men who only wanted to room with men, women who only wanted to room with women, and then was left with a very small pile, only four, of people who weren't too picky about that.

"No smokers- documented case of asthma." She pushed a Mr. Christopher Ogobu to one side. "And Ms. Brandy Linwood, who's putting herself through art college and wants to 'live life, experience poverty and get away from materialism, and meet real people', mm mm mmm. Anne would eat you alive." Jane chuckled to herself.

That left Ms. Smith and Mr. Smythe. Loners or at least loner enough not to drive each other nuts, and Smith didn't mind smokers. Oh, both of them seem to like the night time. That's close enough for government work.

Jane stapled the applications of Mr. William Smythe and Ms. Anne Smith together. "There. Looks like we have a match."

_To Be Continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

Living Conditions

By Sweetprincipale

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: A short, teasing little chapter. Hang on, the next one is longer._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Jackiemack916, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Maire Ailbhe, Suchagleekx, and Lynbie. Also thank you to the guest reviewers._

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

Part II

Spike drove around and around until the light was low enough, and until he figured out where in the world to park his vehicle in this mass of square, boxy buildings. "Building B. Building B? There's A- there's D... why in the hell can't they go in order? Oh, about bloody time." He sighed in relief as Building B confronted him on the last turn. He parked in the shaded area provided by the buildings themselves, being just about perched on top of one another. He rolled up his collar and hustled inside the glass door.

A small room consisting of one large man, one small desk, one badly tuned, static covered television, one snoring mongrel, and a thousand pieces of paper greeted Spike upon entering. "Am I in the right place? Building B? Sent over from the Housing people?" Spike asked, looking around.

"Where's your roomie?" The man asked, wheezing to his feet.

"Hm? Oh, the girl. They told me I'd been matched with a girl, but didn't tell me anything else about her." _Just as well. Don't need to know too much if I'm just going to eat her. _

"Oh, you guys are the matched up pair. Sorry, we've been getting a lot of tenants this week."

"No worries. Can I go on up then?"

"A few things first. Write your car's tag number here, so it doesn't get towed. You pay half the security deposit and the first week up front. Here's your mailbox key and your front door key. You're 11-B, eleventh floor, first door on the left. I'm sorry, the elevator's out, it should be fixed sometime next week." The superintendent passed Spike two keys, a registration card, and a pen. He kept his hand expectantly on the ledge of the window dividing the cramped office from the lobby.

Spike scribbled down his make and model, including the tag number but blurring it badly, just in case they checked on that sort of thing. Last thing he needed was to be charged with a car theft from thirty years ago. He took the keys and forked over an assortment of fives, tens, and twenties. "Is that enough?"

"That's correct, yes." He nodded, and rose, leaning forward to offer Spike a receipt. "Mailboxes are down the hall here, trash is outside on the south side of the parking lot towards C building. Large furniture pick up is on the first and and third Friday of the month, the rest of the rules are on the back of your residency packet in your apartment. Have a nice day."

Spike chuckled. "All that without a breath. I'm impressed." _I don't need to breathe and even I take more pauses than this geezer. _

"Been doing this job for ten years. I can say that little welcome speech in my sleep." The super spared him a smile before turning back to a small, fuzzy television in the corner.

Spike chuckled again. He was quite enjoying playing this game at the moment. Maybe that was why the Los Angeles undead crowd tried to blend in with the breathing types. Like the ultimate game of hide and seek and cat and mouse all rolled up together. He actually toyed with the idea of seeing how long he could keep the charade going, not just living under the humans' noses, but living with one in the same house.

Then the wave of emptiness came back. Over a hundred years, and with very few exceptions, he'd spent each day side by side with Drusilla. Making homes, outrunning mobs, laughing, making love, torturing, killing. Now what was he grinning about? Maybe fooling a human while he lived with it in this cheap crackerjack flat. Cat and mouse? More like flea and mouse. The man who'd hunted Slayers, who Slayers spoke of with fear, was wondering how long he could keep up his cover with a single, ordinary human.

"You can play all you like, mate." Spike muttered grimly as he climbed the stairs. "But the truth is, without Dru, you're less than nothing. You're not even yourself anymore."

He finally reached the flat, used his key and entered. He shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. Spike walked straight through the small cheaply furnished living room and past the bathroom, looking at the choices of bedrooms. Both were the same size- tiny- but because of the way the place was built, only one had a window. He took the windowless one, took off his coat, and flopped down on the bare, sheet-less mattress. He closed his eyes to block the pain out, but that never worked. All he could see, imprinted on his unblinking mind's eye was Drusilla's beautiful, ethereal face.

* * *

Buffy's face was a weary, apathetic blank when she presented herself at the desk in the lobby of her new, possibly temporary, home. "Am I in the right place?" She finally managed to ask after staring around her for a few seconds. She'd walked from the bus stop carrying two large bags, her life in a duffle. She'd left straight from work, but had changed in the diner's restroom. She didn't think much about herself anymore, not in good ways, anyway. She was just moving through the days and nights, trying not to feel. But today she couldn't take wearing the uniform for one second longer than required, not on top of everything else.

"Were you placed here?"

"I guess." Buffy answered dully, shifting her bags. _That describes it pretty nicely. Placed. Like something you just stick somewhere and hope it does okay._ "They said I was in B building?"

"Roommate match up?"

"Yeah."

"He's already here." The graying, portly man behind the glass got to his feet, dislodging his drowsing dog from his lap, and began rifling through papers. "You Smith?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Miss Smith. Here's where you write down your car's license plate num-"

"I don't have a car." She pushed the piece of card stock back gently.

"That makes this easier." He took the form and handed her two keys instead. "You're 11-B. The elevator's broken but they said someone'd be here next week to take a look. It's a lot of stairs, so if you have anything heavy, I-"

"Just this." Buffy quickly reassured him. Her eyes then widened. "I did get a furnished place, right? I mean, I don't have furniture, they said furnished was an option."

"You're furnished, don't worry." He smiled suddenly. He didn't often do that anymore, not when talking to residents. A lot of them seemed to regard the building manager as a cross between the devil and the head auditor at the IRS. It wasn't his fault he had seventy two apartments to manage, a government agency to deal with, and an elevator with a mind of its own. This woman, no just a girl really, just seemed- he couldn't place it. Sort of lost, but trying hard. A lot of residents he saw were lost and had given up completely. "It's not the Taj Mahal, but it's got the basics."

"Basics are good." Buffy said in relief. "Okay, so, um, they told me that I could pay weekly this month as long as I put down my security deposit and the first week up front? Be-because I didn't know I was going to get kicked out. Oh, not like-_ I_ got kicked out. Everyone got kicked out, because of the plumbing and the wiring- and stuff. They were bad." _But I wasn't. I'm not good. But I'm not bad. What am I saying? I killed my boyfriend. I let my Watcher get captured and Willow's probably going to have brain damage thanks to me. Of course I'm bad. I just don't want everyone to know it. I don't want anyone to know anything about me. _"I- uh- here." She pushed her hand inside her bag and emerged with her wallet, hurriedly putting down all the cash she had. "That's what they told me it would be." She backed away, suddenly feeling too exposed, like she'd let herself think too much, feel too much, even speak too much. _Don't let anyone new in. Keep everyone old out._

"That's right. They understand, and most folks who have to move from one place to the next in the middle of the month have to do the same thing." He said kindly. "Your security deposit's all paid up then. Your roommate paid his half and his rent. So don't you worry about that."

"Thanks." Buffy took the receipt he was writing her and tuned out the rest of what he was saying, rules and information about garbage and laundry rooms, lefts and rights. Just nodding along, anxiety in her stomach, exhaustion in the rest of her. She just wanted to go up, lock herself in her room, put sheets on the bed- _Oh damn, what if the sheets don't fit, what size bed is it? I should have asked that. Whatever. Sheets will fit on the top at least and I'm going to lock the door, sleep until sunrise, then walk to work. I can't take the bus all the time, not on what she pays me._

The superintendent stopped speaking. "You did know your roommate was a man?"

"They told me yesterday." Buffy figured the conversation was over and she pulled her bag higher on her shoulder and prepared to climb eleven flights of stairs. _Sighhhh_.

"He seemed nice enough. English, I think."

"Oh. Okay." She pushed a painful memory of a soft, cultured British voice aside. _Please don't let him sound like- no. If he does, it doesn't matter. I don't care if he's from Mars if he pays his rent and lets me sleep._

"You haven't met him, right?"

"No."

"Well- he seemed nice enough. But if he gives you any trouble-"

Buffy closed her eyes in a wince. _The only guy I've ever loved, _ever_, tried to cut me in half with a sword. He crept in my room and in my mother's room and drew pictures of us as we slept, playing sick mind games. He murdered my teacher. He tortured Giles. This guy will have a _long_ way to go before I consider him "trouble"._

He misinterpreted that slight shudder and hastened to ease her mind."Oh now, I didn't mean to scare you. He's just a guy in the same position you are, got moved from his building. I was gonna say, just in case, that is, if he gives you trouble, you come get me. I'm in apartment 1-A. Ed. Ed Carlsby."

Buffy smiled at someone for the first time in weeks. It was a stillborn smile, flat and small, but it was a personal best. "That's really nice. I'm sure we'll be fine."

* * *

Spike woke up as darkness fell fully, his internal alarm going off. He sat up and sniffed in the night. His senses reeled. All these LA vamps must like feeling high. The myriad of human scents, not all of them pleasant, but all of them certainly edible, washing in from above, below, and on the sides, through walls and heating vents- it was enough to make you bite your own arm. His stomach growled and his fangs itched to burst through. His thoughts of playing an extended game of predator vs. prey with his new roomie were in serious jeopardy. He was ready to kill her as soon as she stepped in the flat.

But there were problems with that idea. Too many people. Yes, he had fallen into the vampire version of a grocery store, but he'd also put himself in highly visible conditions. Screams would be heard, questions asked, neighbors might come running. He'd have to play it sneakily, make sure she couldn't scream if he went for her tonight, or any night.

Doing something to her, or to anyone around here would screw up a cozy deal. Maybe not right away, but... Hmm. He wondered how many roommates they'd match him with before they stopped buying the "flighty type, packed it up and left in the night" excuse.

He sat on the edge of the bed, thinking over his options. He finally decided to at least see what this girl was like before deciding if it'd be better to play the long or short game.

* * *

Buffy rounded the tenth floor stairwell with a groan. "One more flight. And then- I crash."

If she'd wanted, she could have made all eleven flights in two minutes, carried her stuff with one finger. But that was a "Slayer" thing. She was not a slayer. She was not even Buffy whenever possible. She trudged. Trudging suited Anne.

"This person better not want a conversation right away." She panted as she swung open the final stairwell door. "Or ever." _Please, please, please don't let this guy want to be friends. Have you seen what happens to anyone I'm friends with? _She directed this part of her silent musings to whoever was up there in the cosmos, making stupid decisions about choosing slayers and love and life in general. _ Maybe we can just sort of coexist? Leave one another completely alone except to ask if their half the rent is covered? Do you think you could do that for me, seeing how badly you screwed up the rest of my life?_

Buffy finished these pleading thoughts and shoved her key in the lock, fumbled for a second before realizing it was open, and then stumbled in. Her bags flew to the left, taking her halfway with them, her keys dropped to the floor, and her hair fell over her eyes. _Ha ha. That's your final shot, Cosmic Overlord People. I'm going to get off this cheap but clean carpeting, and have a mishap free night, deal?_

Buffy straightened up, removing her wrist from where it was caught in the strap of her duffle bag and pushed her hair back in time to see a masculine silhouette emerging from a room in the back.

Fate snickered and replied,_ No deal._

"Slayer!" The voice was British, and familiar. "_Slayer_!"

Buffy's eyes threatened to dislodge. Then anger followed by pure disbelief and and overwhelming feeling of "What the hell?" "No. No, _no way_!"

Spike stared in shock. His eyes narrowed, unsure if the drink had finally taken its toll. "Slayer?"

Buffy stared in horror, blinking rapidly, wondering if she was finally losing it. "I am _so_ getting a refund!"

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

Living Conditions

By Sweetprincipale

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Jackiemack916, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Maire Ailbhe, Suchagleekx, Lynbie, Illusera, EvelynFerusons, Seapea, and nosurprises. Also thank you to the guest reviewers. If you aren't getting review replies- make sure you're signed in and have your PM function on so I can respond!_

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

Part III

Buffy made sure the door was shut behind her firmly and hissed angrily at the peroxide blonde swaying towards her. "What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be a million miles away someplace and I'm never supposed to see your vampy face ever, ever again!" Her fists balled and her eyes sparked.

"Me! What the bloody fuck are _you_ doin' here? You've saved the whole ruddy world- thanks to me, mind you- and you have to come invade my little piece of it?" Spike threw out his arms and shouted as he stood in the middle of the sparsely furnished living room.

"Oh you were_ such_ a big help!" Buffy rolled her eyes and closed the distance between them. They were toe to toe, worn sneakers to scuffed boots. "Now- now get out of here. Right now!" She put her hands on her hips.

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Make me."

"I will, Spike. I let you off once-"

"I saved your ass and your Watcher's as well!"

"Don't talk to me about Giles!" Buffy felt something move in her, like an electrical impulse, and before she knew it, her left arm had flown from her side and slammed into the side of his face. "Oh!" She gasped in surprise as she watched Spike go reeling back, thudding against the wall.

"_Oh._" Spike's noise was not surprised at all. More like hungry. His eyes slitted and he wiped a thumb experimentally across his lower lip. Blood. And a Slayer. A sign.

He roared and lunged.

Buffy moved, suddenly revitalized, Anne's tiredness forgotten in the rush for immediate survival, not the day to day burden of "making ends meet".

They traded blows, his boot caught her face and sent her toppling back over one of the two armchairs. She rolled herself off the ground by propelling herself with a sharp curve to her back and letting her feet slam into his chest. He was on the floor and she was over him, then just as rapidly found her legs swept out from under her, down on the ground again.

Spike roared a second time and found himself with a knee to his bits for it. "Play fair!" He squawked suddenly, hands heading south.

"You'll get me kicked out!" Buffy hushed him furiously.

"Not- just- your- place!" Spike panted hard in pain, as he gripped her by the hair and yanked her back down to her knees, so they were eye to eye once again.

"You're _not _staying here!" She cried through locked jaws.

"I'm on the lease, Sweetheart!" He spat.

"Not in a million years!" She shoved with all her strength on his shoulders, making him fall backwards, taking out a floor lamp as well, not to mention a fistful of her hair.

"Nope, just in one day!" He rebounded, two quick kicks and she was the one slumping against the carpet, holding her side.

"Fine. Stay. A little ash in the carpet won't bother me." She clawed her way to a sitting position and then remained there, ribs screaming, head lolling back against the wall.

"Like- to see you- try it." Spike slouched against the chair. He slouched a bit too heavily and overturned it, falling with a groan and a most unthreatening flail.

"Don't think- I won't." Buffy got to her knees as Spike hauled himself upright, sagging over the chair for support. They had a hatred-filled glaring match while not moving.

"C'mon, then." Spike goaded.

Buffy just shot him a more poisonous look. She wasn't a slayer anymore. She didn't fight bad guys, especially not vampires. On occasion, one of the customers at the diner would get fresh, reach out and pinch her bottom, or worse, slap it, and all she'd do was walk away, not looking back, acting like nothing happened. A few months ago, she'd have broken his hand.

_I'm not in slay-mode_. Buffy went to get off her knees, and merely fell back, clutching the wall to straighten up. She still had a stake. Just one. Because she wasn't stupid, she knew what was out there, but when she'd packed that horrible day, the last day in Sunnydale, she'd been trying to leave behind everything she knew, wanted to forget or wanted to change, but couldn't. She didn't take her diary or her photos, just clothes and toiletries. Nothing that screamed "slayer". Except Mr. Pointy. He was now in her purse, inside the interior's zipper pocket, so she didn't have to feel the wood, risk brushing her finger against it, get flashbacks of what she used to do. Her ring- Angel's ring, was in there as well, for the same reasons.

_This is it._ Spike plastered a cocky smile on his face and prepared to go down fighting. Fighting a Slayer. At least Dru could be proud of that. If she cared. His smiled took an abrupt dip and he forced it back into place as he watched his petite adversary getting ready to spring.

_So why the long delay in springing? C'mon already. She doesn't play this waiting game, she's the good guy, pure an' true. Kill the baddies, don't play with 'em_. "Let's go! On your feet, up and at 'em!" He shouted.

"You're the one lying on top of a chair." She countered.

"I'm not lyin'! I'm- preparing. Which way should I take you out, a long, slow bite, or maybe just crack your neck and take the head as a trophy?" He bluffed. He was preparing. Preparing all sorts of last minute dodges and final words, depending on which way his courage went at the end.

He never thought he'd go down like this. Oh, facing a Slayer, yes, most definitely, the only way to go really, if he had to go at all. He'd been hoping to avoid that, but, well, can't win every hand, can you? No, he'd just never figured he'd die fighting like _this. _Weak. Sloppy, staggering, working for each blow instead of enjoying every punch. Too much of the hard stuff, not enough blood. Not feeding right, drinking from the worst sorts of people possible, blood already filtering alcohol. _I'm double tanked, I'm out of shape, haven't had a good fight in over two months, just grab and bite, maybe a single punch. No vamps waiting to challenge me. Not in the best shape for fightin', vamp or not. That, and I don't really care what happens. Why should I? What was I gonna live for? The thrill of draining drunks? Wondering if I could outsmart humans? Bloody hell, I've been outsmarting them for years, none of 'em ever knew what I was until it was too late. Guess what, mate? It's your turn to be too late now._

While Spike was doing his "preparation", Buffy was struggling to get her balance back and find her momentum. She couldn't. _What am I doing? Who am I trying to fool? I don't fight anymore. Even if I wanted to- it's just- it's just gone._ She flexed her fingers. They hurt, they were scraped. Just from this little ten or fifteen minute exchange. She used to patrol half-the night, fight vamps and demons and supernatural yuckies for hours, after a full day of school, maybe even after dancing or doing homework or- Buffy shut her brain down with a snap. _That was the old me. The new me is out of shape, is exhausted, works all day, has stupid dreams half the night, and eats every other day, if I remember to and there's something the diner didn't sell out of or is about to expire. I don't want to fight, I'm not up to fighting, and I really don't care if I win. Why should I win? What's winning gotten me lately? The world is saved, great. But why do_ I _need to keep being in it? I mean, look at what living boils down to- exist on tips, feel tired and miserable every second, try not to talk to anyone, get kicked out of a slum, think maybe you've caught a break because you get a nicer place to survive in- and your roommate is a vampire. Just kill me now._

But pride made Buffy make one last stand. Sort of. She staggered up, straightened her spine and walked to Spike as he pushed himself upright and made himself stop swaying.

Two immobile faces with empty eyes, set jaws, assorted cuts and bruises. "Go on then." He whispered menacingly. "Give you the first shot."

"I don't need a head start." She whispered back grimly, lips quivering slightly, a mix of anger and pulsing pressure.

They circled. Awkwardly, hands slowly moving into defensive blocks. "Forgot somethin' haven't you, Cutie?"

"If it's about you, I try really hard to forget_ everything_."

If Spike hadn't been so downtrodden himself, he might have noticed her banter had no spark, no wit and play. Bitter and empty. "Your stake, Slayer." He reminded her.

"Don't call me that!" She screeched, a snapping point hit. "Don't call me that!" Before she realized it, they were clawing at each other again, punching him flat to the wall, and then shaking, barely able to stand over him when he toppled drunkenly to the floor.

"Finish it." He looked up at her, blood from the corner of his mouth now running in a thin trickle to his collar.

She fell to her knees, sheer inability to stand making her tumble. "What?"

"Finish it! Finish me, dammit!"

Buffy stared uncomprehendingly, shaking her head slightly. _No. No, he kills _me_. I don't kill anymore. _

Spike's temper flared, but only feebly at her mute refusal. "Don't you get it? I'm givin' you what you want. You, Slayer, take out the Slayer of Slayers, many have tired, none have succeeded. I'm a feather in your pretty little cap." He opened his arms, shoulders to the wall and looked her in the eye. Chest was out, heart almost visible through his shirt, very visible in his eyes.

"I don't- I don't want...I'm not the Slayer."

"Hell you're not. You don't get to give _that_ gift back!"

Her jaw spasmed and her frame jerked as though feeling a jolt of electricity. "Shut up." She ordered in a low, cracking voice.

He didn't recognize the dangerous tone. If he had, he might've backed off, or maybe encouraged it more, based on his oscillating viewpoint. But he wasn't really speaking to her, more to himself, a litany of reasons to give up this half-life. "I'm useless. I'm nothing without her. Living without the one love of your life- God there's no point in it. I just- I just want it to end."

Her chest heaved, once, twice, and then she was pushing up, off of her hands and knees, turning to run, leave the room before she started to sob. Her body wouldn't support that though, and she made it to the corner of the room before she huddled there, and tried to stop the tears from escaping. She managed to suppress the wail her soul wanted to make, but her eyes unleashed her heartbreak.

_The Slayer crying._ It momentarily jarred him out of his stupor. He scooted up the wall, and stared openly. When several minutes ticked by, he couldn't keep from speaking. "Slayer?"

"I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Leave me alone and stop calling me that. I'm _not_ the Slayer! I didn't kill him!" She shouted explosively.

Spike blinked and cocked his head. "Who? Angelus?" Instead of huddling, she went down into a complete ball, head on knees, shaking. "Right." _Lost her own love. Nothing compared to what Dru and I shared, but- hm. This is perfect. What if I make a move now? She's weak as a kitten, sobbin' her heart out. What if she's not the end, what if she's the trophy? My third and final, glorious redemption._ Dru's face haunted him, the vacant eyes look she wore as she read the stars, her hands outstretched, one to the heavens, one to him. Tears crested down her cheeks and stained her lily white frock. He could still hear her voice, shaking and frantic. "I see her. She's all over you. You're covered in her... _Covered_ in her, Spike. You taste- of ashes. You'll never be clean again, she's stained you. Covered in her, covered in her..."

_What if I kill her for you, my ebony star? What if I wash in her blood? Will I be clean enough for you then?_

* * *

Buffy heard the unsteady gait, the shuffling behind her. He didn't breathe, but she could hear and feel the faint rasping as he loomed above her. Her back instinctively clenched, ready to coil her body into a furious spring, attack. She let it go with an effort. She had considered lifting her head, but she really didn't want to see his face. She remained supine, letting go of everything and failing, as always, little tugs of memory pulling, always pulling, refusing to be silenced. Now, though, now the blackness would come, he'd be on top of her any second now, and it'd hurt. But it wouldn't hurt worse than this. And it'd end.

* * *

He hovered, fangs slowly easing into his mouth, bones shifting softly. _Go on. Get your strength back._

So why didn't he move in for the kill? Dru's face hovered in front of him again. Not her accusing face, her giggling, sweet smile- aimed at Angelus. Before he'd ever thought of working with the Slayer, she was drifting from him, away from him. And just as quickly as her seductive smile flitted before his eyes, her cold, cruel, unhinged eyes burned into his. "You drank her? You consumed her? You tasted of ashes and now you're full of them! Full of her! Covered in her, full of her!"

Spike swallowed a gasp and stepped a half step back, shaking. _Too confused. What's real, what's not? What does she want, did I ever really know? Did I ever give it to her? _

_ Look at what you think of as a victory. Look at that third jewel in your crown. _His face was expressionless as he saw a quivering defeated mass at his feet. He wasn't the one who'd put her in that state. She'd tortured herself into this wreckage. She was letting him have her, not defending herself. Weakness drinking weakness, defanged wolf slaughtering half-dead lamb.

His hands balled tightly into fists, unable to decide. Unable to do anything- he walked silently away, back into his room. He shut the door behind him and reached down beside the bed. Remains of last night's purchase. Closing his eyes, he sank back with the bottle to his lips.

* * *

She stayed there, on her side this time, crying and waiting and thinking. She was dazed, part of her wondering if somehow she had died, and hell was still furnished with carpet that felt like cardboard and you still saw everything like it was happening in slow motion.

Eventually she rolled, eased up. She looked around in a haze, eventually focusing on a small round clock above the television. Ten. Ten! She'd been lying there for at least two hours, maybe more. Pushing her hair back with a shaking breath, she stood up. The front door was still shut. Had he left? She didn't know, she thought he walked past her. Was he walking past her to leave, or was he lurking, waiting to spring? She had to find out.

* * *

Was she still alive? Two hours, almost three, and she hadn't come barging in to stake him or toss him out the window. Perhaps she'd died of grief. You could die of a broken heart. He was sure of it, just hadn't worked in his case because he was already dead, damn the inconvenience. Or maybe she'd just left, run off. He could still smell her scent, but it was muddled with a dozen other humans nearby and fuddled with the half bottle he'd drunk. Better go find out.

* * *

"Hey!"

"Oi!"

Two figures collided. Buffy'd been slowly easing the closed door open, and Spike'd been tiptoeing through it. They scuffled, shoulders and chests shoving, before falling clumsily back into the living room and righting themselves.

"You're still alive."

"You're still here." They greeted each other with a sneer. The emotional outbursts they'd witnessed were temporarily ignored.

"Not for long." They threatened in unison, reflexive posturing.

"Oh, yeah? Ready for a proper job of it this time?" Spike demanded, arms flung out to invite the second round. Only his coordination was far from its peak, and all he succeeded in doing was knocking the television halfway off the small end table it sat on. He managed to snag the cord before it crashed to the floor, and Buffy rocked the end table back into place under it as he set it down.

They both had an uncomfortable flash of deja vu.

_We did move good together, that one and only time._

_ Unlikely teamwork saves the day. Or at least the television. _ Buffy pushed the thought of the other time they'd been a team far down inside herself. She didn't look at him, looked at the floor, the walls, anything but the face of the man who'd helped her. Helped her kill Angelus. It had needed to happen. But Angel wasn't supposed to be part of that bargain. That part, all of that, she never wanted to think of again. Put the past away, all of it, even her name, her home, time to focus on her new -

"Oh My God! Look at this place!" Buffy screeched suddenly, making Spike protectively clutch his aching brow.

Spike looked. "Well, what'd you expect for five hundred a month in this city?" He reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

"Not the apartment! The apartment!" Buffy smacked his cigarette back into the packet.

"I may- just may- be havin' a little trouble understandin' things at the moment. But it sounded like you said the same thing." Spike stepped out of the way of her angry hands. No dice. She grabbed his shoulder and whisked him in a circle, frantically pointing as she yelped away.

"Look! Look at this place! The walls! Oh my God, there's a hole! And the lamp! Oh, the rug!" Buffy swallowed. She had only lived in the place for a few hours and it was trashed. Signs of their brief but destructive battle were everywhere. Two holes in the wall the size of heads, probably ten gouges in the walls made by fists, knees, shoulders, or feet. Blood spots on the grayish carpeting. Shattered lightbulb glass lying in a pool around the bent metal floor lamp. The armchairs were on their sides, and one of them had a large crack in the wooden slats of the frame. The dull whitish gray paint had black scuffs and red splotches. "Look what you did." She shook the vampire.

"Me? _We_, Slayer, _we_."

"You started it! What'd you do, eat my roommate?"

"I _am_ the soddin' roommate." Spike shoved her hands off him. "Long story." _I ate the bloke who was gonna get his flat condemned, used his papers to get set up here, no one asks too many questions if you have the right papers. Hm. Not such a long story anyhow. She still wouldn't like it though._

"How?"

"It's a funny little incident, really-"

"Oh, God, shut up! Never mind how, what are we going to do?"

"We?"

"You just said this was 'we', not me." Buffy backed him into a wall, unfortunately making a detour through the fallen armchair. Spike ended up on his posterior, teeth clenched and fury on his pale face.

"Yes, we bashed up the place. Not sure what the problem is. Fights have a way of happening between you an' me."

"The problem is-" Buffy hauled him up by his collar, "that I just paid all the money I have to live here. I can't afford to get kicked out, and I also can't get my security deposit back if the place looks like this! And neither can you- if you paid."

"Of course, I paid!" He retorted hotly. "I couldn't be inside this place if it wasn't mine, that pesky little 'by invitation only' rule us vamps have to play by. So I'm paid. Stop yapping at me, or I'll puncture your windpipe." He gripped her wrists and was surprised to see her actually make an expression of pain. "Ooh. We need to trash the place more often, seems to give me the upper hand."

"No, just the upper_cut_." She punched him hard in the soft hollow under his chin, throwing him back down across the chair, his chin now pointing to the ceiling. The ceiling was the only surface not marred by their actions."Oh man. The neighbors. Mr. Carlsby is going to kick me out anyway! He probably had forty complaints about us! They said I wasn't a risk! No fault, no risk! Now look at this! I'll never get another apartment again!" She crossed her arms, then put one hand to her mouth, the picture of distressed, overwhelmed suffering. "I am so going to kill you for this."

"About bloody time." Spike mumbled and remained sprawled in the upended chair.

She glared. "_After _you help me clean up, you idiot! And I hope you know how to spackle because I don't!"

"You can't spackle this lot, there's holes clear through to the wiring, you daft bitch!" Spike cried in exasperation.

"You can patch them! I know you can fix holes even bigger than that. Giles always-" she stopped. Giles had had plenty of practice patching up the library. "I know you can patch them." She said more calmly. Spike just remained reclining , looking at her with his mouth open. "Now! Let's go. Hardware store."

"At this time of night?" He griped.

She ignored him. It was LA. You could get a anything here, at anytime of day or night. "You're paying for anything we need."

"I'm broke." He protested, dumbfounded further. She was like a tidal wave of orders and relentless, frantic, annoyance.

Buffy grunted in exasperation and dropped down to her knees, resting between his legs for a second before half straddling him.

Spike's mind exploded in shock and questions. "Here now! Off! Off, off, off!" He tired to push her away, but she was determined, her hands on his chest, her legs climbing up his until she was almost flat against him. He pushed her off with a curse and got ready to ask her what the hell she was playing at- when he felt her hand patting purposefully across him- then emerging with his wallet. _Oh, thank God_. He was used to game changers, but that one was just a bit too much. Although, as she remained sitting between his bent knees, slim fingers raking through his bills, he felt a hint of interest. No, not interest. Awareness. Just aware of her suddenly. Well why not? She was a pretty piece of flesh after all. He'd always thought she was, even for a Slayer.

"Give me that!" He found his voice and snatched the black leather wallet back.

Too late. It was empty. Buffy's slim fingers snaked through a stack of tens, fifties, ones, no order to it, just a wad of cash."Broke? Broke like you broke someone's neck and took their life savings?" She asked, sitting back with a cynical frown.

"No!" He shook his head vehemently. "Like I broke _a lot_ of people's necks and took whatever they had handy." He mumbled under his breath, the air of a guilty schoolboy about him.

Buffy was tempted to drop the bills. Murdered money. But what was done was done, and she needed it.

Spike got indignant as he watched her eye the packet in her hands with such distaste, though he couldn't justify why. "It's my half of the rent, Slayer! I couldn't pull this off without that cash."

"Well- well there's obviously more than your half left, so you're buying the wall patching stuff. And-" she looked around, "carpet cleaner. Lightbulbs. This weird shade of whitish paint. And whatever the heck you use to straighten out lamps and whatever you use to clean blood and boot marks out of upholstery and walls." As she rattled off this list she pushed her vampiric housemate along, a little shove on each word until he was standing up. "Then you're going to help me clean up. _Then_ I'm going to kill you."

"Oh goody. Promise?" He snarled with sarcastic goodwill.

"Oh yes. Very."

_Or maybe I'll kill _you_ when you try. Drain you. Say I've killed my third. Restore myself. Maybe it will drive Dru further away. Or maybe she wont be able to resist the vamp who's the envy of the demon world. I'll be king again. Even alone, I'd still be king, every vamp and demon in the world would know not to cross me. _Spike stepped back and watched Buffy patting at her hair, moving her luggage to find her purse_. What a sad sight she's become. All the life gone out of her, without the Broody Bastard. I hope he's suffering. Ruined two lives. Ruined three. Maybe more. Wonder why she's out here on her own? _All thoughts of vanquishing dissipated rapidly. That wasn't a slayer, not exactly. Thoughts of becoming the newest supreme evil faded as well. _What's a king with no queen and no kingdom? Probably something that looks a lot like her. Dammit._

"Are you coming?" Buffy asked as she stood by the door, and he lingered behind, staring after her.

"Alright, Slayer. Alright."

"Stop. Calling. Me. That!" Buffy smashed her fist into his jaw.

"What the hell?" Spike ducked enough that she just grazed him, but it was still bloody painful. He stared in awe at the girl. She was a flipping psycho. Half the time weeping like a baby, the other half pulling punches that would break bones of normal humans. "What's wrong with you?"

"So many things." She muttered harshly, and walked out the door.

"For instance?" _Know thy enemy..._

"For instance, things I'm not talking to you or anyone else about."

Spike rubbed his tender jaw. From repeated punches, it felt as though a golfball was growing under his tongue, making it painful to speak. "Next time try to talk without your fists, would you? Use words and all? Learn not to repress."

She rounded on him so quickly that he had to stop short to avoid colliding head on with her as they headed down the poorly lit hallway. "Okay. Words. Spackle." She mimed slathering something across his face with her hand. "Your." She pointed to his chest. "Face." She brought her hand higher. "Shut." She snapped her hands together an inch from his mouth, and smiled, a strange, serious glint in her eye.

Spike watched her walk away, fingers twitching to get around that throat and choke her, smart mouthed, impossible bitch. He stalked after her, eyes like snake slits of cold fury, hissing to himself, "One of us had better kill the other one of us right bloody quick, 'cause I can't live like this."

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Jackiemack916, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Maire Ailbhe, Suchagleekx, Lynbie, Illusera, EvelynFerusons, Seapea, nosurprises, and Kira-The-Shinigami . Also thank you to the guest reviewers. If you aren't getting review replies- make sure you're signed in and have your PM function on so I can respond!_

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part IV**

"I have never been that embarrassed. Ever." Buffy slammed down two plastic bags and turned to face Spike. "And considering my life? That's world's record holding embarrassment."

"You're embarrassed? _I'm _embarrassed!" Spike put down two more bags and bolted the door behind them.

"What did_ I_ do?" Buffy demanded.

"When that manager asked you to hold my tools for a minute and you choked on your own spit and gasped like you'd gotten a knife in your guts." He spoke in a bad, horrified falsetto, " 'We're not dating!'. Good God, all he wanted was for my hands to be free so he could pass me the dry wall kit from the top shelf! Of all the air-headed moments to have a dirty mind..."

"I am never, ever setting foot in your car again." Buffy blushed and changed the subject.

"No, that's right, you aren't." Spike grimaced at the memory of her constant cries of dismay, her flinging of cigarette butts and empty bottles and cans to the back seat and out windows. "I didn't get to eat tonight, Slayer, an' I'm not feelin' too chipper, so stop the Miss Priss act."

"You could have told me how bad I looked." Buffy touched her bruised face as she unpacked the bags.

"I thought the Slayer healing would kick in by the time we found a place, so sue me."

"It doesn't work like that." _Not anymore. It still kicks in, but so much slower. I don't know why. No, that's not true, I know exactly why, but let's lie a little more. _

"It was the best story I could think of- what with all the blows to my own head." Spike growled.

"You told that nice old lady I was a mud wrestler!"

He laughed. For the first time in weeks. "You should've seen the look on your face. Ow!" Buffy'd hit him on the back of the head with the basic toolkit he'd bought. Four screwdrivers, pliers, hammer, wrenches, and nails. That'd leave a bruise. "What would you have wanted me to say?"

"I don't know! How about, 'she fell down the stairs'?"

"Oh. Yeah. You'd rather them think you were clumsy instead of earning an honest living?"

"YES!"

"Alright, alright! Lower your volume, it's after midnight. Some people do work days."

"I know. I'm one of them!" She hollered, eyes blazing. "We're never going to get this done before I have to leave."

"Not if you keep whining at me." Spike looked around. "First things first, put the chairs up."

"Don't give me orders."

"Fine. You do this part and you can boss me all you'd like." Spike handed her the drywalling patch kit and the can of spackle.

Pride warred with practicality. She needed a decent job done on this to have any hope of getting her money back when she moved. That money could be the rent or security deposit for the next place. Survival 101, this was just another class. Do what you hate, with the person you hate, but exist another second. She sighed, and looked away, eyes on the overturned furniture. "Chairs up. Then what?"

"Sweep up the glass and start scrubbing the blood and scuffs off the walls and carpet." Spike ordered authoritatively. He took off his coat, stuck a smoke in his mouth and turned to the wall. He felt it unnecessary to tell her he didn't actually have a clue in hell how you did this DIY stuff. He specialized in breaking up places, not restoring them.

He didn't have to tell her in so many words. She sort of figured it out thirty minutes later when he threw down the instructions and stomped on them, jumping up and down while clutching a bent wire screen in his hand. "Stupid, sodding, shabby, snotty piece of shit!"

"Nice alliteration." Buffy remarked from where she was scrubbing at the carpet with a stiff scrub brush and a bottle of extra strength foam. "Problems?"

"I'd need three hands to do this! Listen, 'Place patch in damaged area. Brush on white base adhesive, see figure B, while using securing mounts in corners simultaneously, making sure securing mounts are also in adhesive and are on pre-prepped adhesive-coated base."

Buffy stared. "Do what now?"

"I know!" He returned the paper to the floor and began jumping on it once again.

"That's very mature. Aren't you like 200 something?"

"No." He glared. "And it's not a matter of maturity, it's a matter of- what are you doing?" All the sudden she was stepping beside him, then in front of him.

"Helping, oh temper-tantrum-y one." Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'll hold the patch thingy, you do the adhesive whatsit?"

"If you want." Spike shrugged, secretly relieved. Although again, mildly uncomfortable. She squirmed her way past him and he put his arms around her shoulders to reach past her. She might be weak now, but she still had that undercurrent of power, dormant and hibernating, but it was there. Oh God, yes, and her neck, just a few inches away...

"Stop staring at my neck, I can feel it." She elbowed his gut. Adhesive splashed on both of them.

"Look what you've done! I hope that Super Rug Foamer or whatever you bought gets this stuff out of carpet."

"That was your fault!"

"You elbowed me!"

"You were staring at my neck!"

"It's right in my face, what am I supposed to do?"

She had no answer for that.

* * *

"That's the last of the spackle. We need more. And it says we need sand paper before we use the paint." Spike groaned and sat down in the newly scrubbed chair.

"Take your shoes off!" Buffy yelped.

"Huh?"

"I just scrubbed that whole area around the chair! No shoes!" She flopped back in the other chair, which creaked. "How do we fix the wooden part under the chair? It's split."

"I dunno. Can't we just pretend it didn't happen? No one's going to check that, are they?"

Buffy considered. Do more home repairs with Spike, or pretend the chair didn't squeak? " Check what?" She deadpanned.

Spike smiled slightly and eased off his boots.

Buffy hung her head back over the edge of the chair and caught sight of the clock . Four. Wow. Now that she'd stopped moving, she felt like she was buried under a thousand pounds of lead. "Ughhh. Look at me. I'm covered in blood and sticky stuff and spackle."

"And rug cleaner."

"And that." She agreed. She feebly rotated her head again. Her suitcases were still shoved in a corner, still unpacked. She'd never even looked at the bedroom that was to be hers. Or the kitchen, or bathroom. She needed to pee. And shower. But getting up was so much effort. "I am so out of shape."

"Mmhm." Spike made a small noise of agreement, head slumping to his chest.

"I never realized how much work Giles- I never realized repairing places after fights was so much work."

"Nope." Spike moved to the window, prying it open. The place stank to high heaven of a dozen different chemicals. He wanted a cigarette but his level of risk-taking wasn't sufficient to flick an open flame while sitting in a chair covered with flammable fluid residue. He expected her to snark at him for lighting up, but she just stared vacantly at the clock on the wall. "So where are they?"

"Who?" Buffy came to life, a little bit anyway.

"You know who. Your little band. I thought all of you were a matched set."

Buffy's face lost it's relaxed edge and turned into a hunted, closed over expression. "Where's Drusilla?" She countered.

Spike took a long drag. If she wasn't telling, he would. Be the tough one here, the one with a bigger set of stones- figuratively anyway. "Left me. Saving her life isn't good enough if I did a deal with the devil- pardon the pun-" he shot her a dirty look, "to make it happen."

Buffy was shocked. Not exactly shocked that the creepy brunette wasn't around, she'd figured there'd been a fight or something- but to leave him? Spike traded everything he wanted for her. He'd traded the chance to kill her when she had Dru in the same position. He traded his good name- or well, bad name, by working with a Slayer to save her life. "Wow. I'm sorry." _I just apologized to Spike. Oh ew._ "She was a big ho though."

_Wrong thing to say_. His eyes sprouted flames as he turned to face her, not leaving his perch, just spitting out his angry words from across the room, "No bigger than _yours_. Fucked everything in a skirt, dead or alive."

She sat up, face paling as she tried to keep her emotions in check. "No. Angel never- there was only-" _There was only me. Him and I. Angelus- Angelus took him over, and whatever he did, whatever he did after our first- _Her eyes threatened to overflow. "Stop talking about it."

"Why should I?" Spike challenged.

"Because if you don't, I'll keep mentioning _your_ ex honey." She raised her head feebly and glared briefly before sinking her head back down. "Anyway, you promised I'd never see your pasty little rat face again. So why are you here?"

"No, no, the question is, why are you? I didn't come back to Sunnydale, God knows I didn't wanna be anywhere near you. I came back to LA, where you aren't supposed to be. I'm sorry I didn't phone ahead and see if you'd suddenly moved into this particular city. A city with with three million people. What are the odds you'd see me anyway?"

Buffy bit her lip. She didn't want to tell him why she was here. Oh, she would end up telling him if he couldn't figure it out, but not before she made him spill. With an even, emotionless voice she asked again, "Why are you _here_?"

He sighed. He'd tell her sooner or later, might as well be sooner. "Because in Brazil I stand out. I also have a horrible time with Portuguese and Dru -" Spike swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, recalling the exact moment he'd decided to board that ship, to get far away. She was chanting about him being covered, about taking her pleasure somewhere else, all in that hopeless, lost little girl voice that made his heart break, made him ache to love her and look after her- and then she was turning away, back inside some demon run bordello, where he'd found her in the arms of something slimy and horny in more ways than one. She no longer wanted him, or his love. "I wanted to be far from her." He tried to sound factual, not like he was dying inside. "Figured I'd start here, work my way east. Coastlines are good, travel by ships, lots of people comin' in and out. I don't stand out here. No one looks twice." He'd spoken to the pink tinged sky, not looking at her, not even talking to her. It was just his daily rationale about why he was here, and what he would do. "This is how vamps survive outside a Hellmouth, Slayer. It's the way we do things. If we're on our own. We try to be nothing, be no one. I'm no one. Without her." Damn the little tremble in his voice. "It all makes sense. What doesn't make sense is _you_ being here. Care to explain?"

Her voice was flat, not too soft, not too loud. She could have been one of those programmed machines, except for the words issuing from her pale lips. No one could have pre-recorded this sad story. "No place else to be. Just like you. No one notices me here. I'm tired of being noticed."

He turned slowly from the window and looked at her. Stained clothes, flattened hair, bruised hands. Limp and crushed. He didn't feel pity, but he felt puzzled.

She didn't look up when she felt his eyes on her, instead continued speaking to her lap in an empty voice that was slowly filling out. "My school expelled me. I let down all my friends. My mom kicked me out, my dad would probably put me in a mental hospital, if he could even take the time off from work to see me." Her lips twisted into a pained line as she tried not to cry, or to laugh, at how bad everything had become. "I killed my lover and saved the world." Her head remained lowered, but her eyes darted up to catch his briefly. "No one talks about that stuff though, when you're a slayer and no one is supposed to know. They just talk about what classes you missed and how bad your grades are."

He nodded, and turned back to the window. For some reason, hearing her speak was disturbing him, more than any enemy ever had. He loved to hunt Slayers, killed two, hunted more but hadn't always gotten there in time to strike the final blow, or had plans changed en route. He'd read all he could find about them, their moves and what great evils they'd defeated. Funny how he'd never felt anything but admiration and anticipation before. No fear. No worry. Until this one. He'd been afraid she'd stop him curing Dru. He'd been afraid of her killing Dru. He'd been afraid of her messing up his plans. Now- he was just uneasy around her. Like he knew his enemy just a little too well, and before tonight he'd have sworn that was an impossibility.

In the moment's silence, Buffy felt the exhaustion overtaking her more fully. She had never said any of this out loud, always just in her head, and she tried not even to do that. Letting it out here, word by word, felt like she was cutting off pieces of herself. She was going to die from this, from thinking about it, from letting the words and thoughts out where she could feel them hurting her. But wasn't that what she wanted? Wasn't that why she was so tired, caring all of this around inside? Cut it off, piece by piece and maybe her heart would just peacefully bleed out and come to rest.

"Here no one cares." She whispered. "No one notices. I'm just- no one. You're nothing without Drusilla. I'm nothing at all. Not anymore."

Oh, damn her to seven levels of hell and a couple other levels you needed a special backstage pass for. He dragged heavily on the cig, pulling it down to the filter in one long inhalation. He felt- moved. Not in a good way, not in a bad way- just like that odd sense of deja vu. Some familiar sort of way he couldn't exactly name.

He didn't want to tell her that though, and definitely didn't want to start commiserating or offering sympathy. _Worked together once, okay twice if you counted phase one of home repairs, but that's a very different thing than offering kindness and support. That's beyond tasting of ashes, that's rolling in them, willingly swallowing them. That, my boy, is the thin end of the wedge. You start to go there, and you'll never be clean, you might as well burn as play in the cinders._

Burning was an option. The summer sunlight began to show early, not that it'd hit this window anytime soon because of the way the buildings lay. Maybe it wouldn't be for hours. If it had been minutes, if he wouldn't have had hours to back out- he might have done it, just force himself to hold onto the window sill- or no- jump into the rising sun and burn like a phoenix all the way down to the eternal flames waiting for him.

He rocked forward, hands pressing against the glass trepidatiously. _Push through. I could. I know I wouldn't die, not right now, but sunrise comes fast, always comes fast in the summer. _Jumping from eleven flights up- maybe he'd stay on the ground and burn, bleeding and broken. The way he felt inside finally finding a match on the outside. Spike licked his lips and leaned forward more intently.

No. That stupid streak of cowardice or was it bravery? The fact he was willing to go out, but he didn't want to be the one to do it, to sign his own death warrant, admit defeat? Is that some sort of bravery, maybe even nobility, or simply weak?

_I want to go out with a glorious splash, even though I don't deserve it, don't feel it. That'd make Dru regret every time she called me weak or made those ghastly insinuations about what's in my head, what ashes I've been soaking in._

He stubbed the cigarette out on the wood, mentally noting he needed an ashtray or his flatmate would be chasing him after with a burn repair kit next. He might not have to choose his own fate. Not exactly. Fate spat in his face more often than not, but it was occasionally kind to him. His head turned ever so slightly, just catching a glimpse of small feet in dulled white socks dangling from the edges of frayed jeans. _Look at this. A little goody bag on legs. She's my death or the sealing of my triumph, the creation of a bigger, badder name for myself. No, it doesn't look like one, act like one, or even smell like one, but it _is _one. A slayer. _

Not just any slayer, one he knew well, one who's head he could surely get inside of- but still be unpredictable enough to make this a true fifty-fifty, even odds battle. As fair a shot as he'd get in this miserable shadow life he'd found himself floating in.

He turned from the window, voice strident with a slight ripple of reflectiveness. "You're nothing, Slayer? Well, then it'd be nothing versus nothing. How about it? You an' me, a fight to end this miserable existence or bring us back to-" His voice trailed off as he turned fully to face her.

The formidable foe was sound asleep, eyes closed, body splayed, crashed back in the damaged chair. Spike stood motionless, afraid to alert those keen senses, in hibernation though they seemed to be.

He stared at her for several long seconds, a dozen nameless, shapeless thoughts going through his head, some violent and dark, some strangely peaceful, but all of them just unformed glimpses. He walked a few steps closer to her and just watched her, his mind empty.

The room was turning brighter, sunrise was coming. He walked to the small, windowless bedroom he'd claimed, and lay back on the bare bed. He could feel her slow, steady heartbeat, ever so faint, in the next room. He fixated on that one single sound in the midst of all the other sensory rushes surrounding him, and eventually fell asleep himself.

_To Be Continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: This chapter and the next are scenes set to give insight into Spike and Buffy's daily lives together as they begin to share the apartment. I'm afraid smut will take a few more chapters to happen, but I refuse to rush it, because I find the idea of those two leaping into bed together at this point, when both are so clearly heartbroken, emotionally tapped out, and antagonistic towards each other unbelievable in most circumstances. Just a heads up. The smut shall happen- just not yet!_

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Jackiemack916, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Maire Ailbhe, Suchagleekx, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, Schural, Seapea, nosurprises, Kira-The-Shinigami , and 666 . Also thank you to the guest reviewers. If you aren't getting review replies- make sure you're signed in and have your PM function on so I can respond!_

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part V**

Buffy squinted when soft light hit her. She sat up with a gasp. She had a rush of thoughts. _Where am I? Right, I know that, now where's Spike? I'm alive, that's good..._She ran her hands over herself, as if making sure she hadn't been injured while sleeping, and then winced when her hands felt dried nameless yuck on her shirt and even on her skin. The thoughts went back to full speed again. _Oh my God, I'm disgusting, what's on me, rug cleaner, blood, or spackle? I hope that comes off. I reeeealllly have to pee now, I need a shower, what time is it- I'M LATE! _"I'm late!" This last thought translated into words. If she was walking to work, then she should be leaving in oh- about five seconds. Well, it would have to be five minutes, because she needed to find her uniform, get a shower, do something with her face- Buffy stopped making the list and rolled from the chair to her feet, running as soon as she hit the carpet.

_Uniform out, clean underwear, oh, just take the whole bag. No, take both bags._ Buffy grabbed both suitcases and took them to the small bathroom with her, digging through one for her shampoo on the way.

* * *

Spike lifted his head. He heard water running, heard thudding, and then muffled cursing and the sounds of something being thrown in the room right next to him. He considered calling out, seeing what was wrong.

On the other hand- Spike considered the possibility of accidentally or purposefully getting in the Slayer's way as she was getting ready to go to work. No. Not just now. He heard doors slamming, feet racing and then another door slamming.

"Slayer?" He called softly. No shrewish shriek. "Slayer?" He asked a little more loudly. Still nothing. He walked to his door and opened it, then yelped and backed up. "You could have at least closed the blinds!" He howled to the empty room. Her bedroom door was open and two over turned, half-spilled bags were on her bed, but the sunlight coming through her window and the sunlight coming in through the large double living room window made exiting his own small cubby a risk. Still- better to do it now then before the sun was at its brightest.

Spike bundled himself up in his coat and ran through the burning sunlight. He shut Buffy's door and yanked on the blind cords in the living room and then the window where he'd sat earlier, the ledged one in the kitchenette/dining area.

Finally safe, he dragged himself over to one of the chairs and flopped in it. He'd had a handful of hours of sleep and nothing to eat in the last day and a half. He stared moodily around him. Well. There was a television. Or he could sleep. Because there was no way he could get something to eat. Spike groaned. _Look at me. In the old days we had humans kept on tap. We had minions who'd bring us 'made to order' meals. "Bring me something dark and sweet, bring Dru something with a bit of muscle." No one dared oppose me, how could they when I slay what slays us, when I kill the only living thing a vampire needs to fear... And now ? I'm sharin' a flat with a Slayer- and I need to go back to the bloody hardware store an' get more spackle and sandpaper. An' the telly doesn't even have a remote. This. Sucks. _

Spike heaved himself up and back to his bed. He had thought he was in hell when Dru left him. He had thought it was as bad as it could get, the worst he could ever feel. He was right. Only now, he was stuck in limbo, in some kind of confusing purgatory. The booze was wearing off and thoughts were coming back. Not only thoughts, but people. Of all the people in the city, why in the world, how in the hell, could he possibly have been placed with Buffy Summers?

* * *

"You're late, Anne. You don't want this job, someone else'll jump at it."

"I'm sorry." Buffy said in a flat voice, tying her little white apron behind her. She had run, really run, like she was secretly able to, all the way to work, and was still fifteen minutes late. And as soon as she'd crossed the doorway, the Slayer side was turned off, and she was back in the world she now preferred. The nothing world, some kind of limbo between living and dying, where you didn't have to live, you just had to survive until the kindness of oblivion managed to find you.

She almost enjoyed the mindless plodding of her job. It was the easiest thing in the world to turn off her cacophony of thoughts in the diner, because it had it's own soundtrack, always the same with slight variations.

"Order up!"

"I asked for no pickles."

"Sorry."

"More coffee?"

"Thank you."

"Anne, check!"

"Decaf's ready!"

And on and on and on, until Kate, the owner, occasionally spoke to her. Like today. "You okay?"

"Fine." Buffy answered, not looking at her, like she always did.

"You were late. You're never late."

"I moved."

"Oh, really, where to?"

"Some building farther away. I won't be late again. I was just- up fixing things last night. The place needs some work." Buffy hurriedly slipped away. That was the longest conversation she'd had with Kate since being hired. "It won't happen again."

"Can you work until six tonight?"

Buffy was loading her tray, but she slowed down her actions at her boss's words. _Stay late because I came in late? Like I'm being punished? Or because I always take the extra hours because I need the money? If I go home- I can sleep. I'm so tired, it hurts to breathe. Two hours of sleep in thirty six is probably not good. If I go home- Spike is there. Oh God. Spike is in my home. That just proves it. I don't have a home. I just have a place to put my stuff._ "Okay." Buffy nodded, and walked away unsmiling.

* * *

Spike woke up and he knew there was no more waiting. It was twilight, and people who must've been out in the day were back now, because his senses were in overdrive. There were probably ten people on this floor alone, available right now. And all he'd have to do was knock on the door, smile and let the accent do the work. "Hullo, I'm your new neighbor, and our phone hasn't been connected up. Mind if I come in and make a call?" Or the good old standby, "Can I borrow a cup of sugar?"

And then they'd have no time to scream, he could be fast enough, even if he was severely depleted in his energy level and his blood supply. But then the police would be called. Not immediately, in the next day, then they'd question him, then he'd run, then- oh bloody hell.

"I'm going out!" He called to the empty apartment.

* * *

"I'm home. Oh geez, how black and white television is that? At least I didn't say '_Honey,_ I'm home'." She rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her. "Spike?" No answer. Cautiously she moved through the apartment. She didn't put her purse down, but she didn't get the stake out of it, either. Yep, more proof she was stuck halfway between life and death, holding the weapon she could use to protect herself- and firmly denying herself the right to use it.

After checking each of the bedrooms, the one infinitesimal closet in the hall and the closets in each room, even under the beds and behind the shower curtain- she relaxed enough to put her bag down.

_Nothing and no one. Hallelujah. The place to myself. _

Her routine reemerged, with a few changes. She showered, she changed into a plain pink teeshirt and cotton sweat pants. She made her bed, happy the sheets did fit. She sat down at the rickety table with its four chairs, and ate what the diner was going to throw out, what was left of soup of the day- only it had been soup of last week, but it was okay, and the remains of a meatloaf.

After dinner it occurred to her that the apartment had a trashcan but no bags, and that in the kitchen there was a stove and microwave but no plates and dishes or pots and pans. She'd never bothered to buy that stuff because she always ate at work, or brought things home from work already in their plastic containers with their plastic silverware. _I have to go shopping. Trash bags, paper plates. And get hardware stuff too. Spike has to chip in on the hardware, but I guess I have to get the grocery stuff myself, since I'm the only one who eats "people food". _

She wrapped the trash back in the plastic bag she'd carried her leftovers home in and went off in search of the dumpster, mentally making a budget in her head and a list of supplies she'd need to get at the store. Without realizing it, it had been the first time since moving to Los Angeles that she'd planned anything, however minor, and thought more than a few hours ahead.

When she returned to the apartment, after climbing up and down eleven flights of stairs, she lost all interest in heading out in the night to find her way back to the hardware store she knew, or even to one of the markets she passed on the way home from work. Exhaustion finally caught up with her, and she gave in to the rest she'd been craving.

* * *

He wasn't even half-done with the human he held against the wall, and his hunger was far from satisfied. Nonetheless, Spike whirled at the sound of something rustling in the shadows, releasing his captive, who simply sagged to the dark concrete.

"Slayer?" He hissed angrily. No response. "Slayer!"

"Meeeow." A mangy cat raced past his ankles, leaping from the inside of a cardboard box.

"Of course it's a cat. Can barely hear a slayer. Slayers move more like a cat than a cat does." Spike shook his head at his folly. He returned to his dinner, some easy piece in a tight black outfit, hanging around the bars with too much makeup on her dull eyes. He hadn't even had to chat her up, which was good, because he couldn't even think like that, the thought of "making nice" to anyone but Drusilla made his insides lurch. All he'd had to do was leave the bar, and there she was at his side, less than a minute later.

"Where're you parked?" She'd breathed, clearly thinking her husky tone was seductive instead of merely asthmatic.

"Just this way." He'd led her down an alley. And then slammed her face first into the wall and sank his teeth into her neck. He didn't particularly like the way she tasted, she had something in her, maybe ecstasy or some other sort of upper, and fruity little drinks. Her blood was sugary and made him instantly jumpy.

Jumpy. Yeah, that'd be it. That'd be why he was leaping around guiltily, like the big bad Slayer was lurking in the shadows, waiting to stake him. Hah. That Slayer couldn't stand, let alone attack him. He was better now, he was fed and sober. He strode manfully away, and tripped over his meal's high heel, lost in the scuffle.

Okay, so not back to his best, but more sober, and partially full. Spike turned a thoughtful gaze back to the sprawled body behind him. Playing dead. Heartbeat was quick, but she was motionless. Scared he'd come back to finish the job. Mmm, he loved when they were scared.

But unfortunately, so was he. He'd never say it aloud, but he'd had quite the sudden fright when he thought Buffy was behind him. "Can't keep leaving bodies around anyway. Not in the same area. That's how mobs start. That's how the vampire myth turns into a vampire hunt." That's what happened to Dru in Prague. His little darling, she was never very careful, too playful. She didn't always travel a reasonable distance from their homes to kill, she found a particular watering hole she liked- in this case a small order of nuns- and kept feeding from it until people were forced to cast off what they considered fiction and take it for fact.

He'd been sloppy this last week or two. Was he hoping for the same fate? Mobbed and torched, dying after being tracked and trapped? Dru hadn't died, because he'd been there to save her. But his night angel was nowhere around to save him if he met the same fate.

Spike rifled through the small black purse, took her wallet, took the cash, and threw the rest back at her. "Time for the second course."

He found the nearest sewer entrance he could and shot down it, heading clear to the other side of town. Two muggings, two people "knifed" in the neck and robbed coming out of bars in the same night, on opposite ends of the city? That wasn't cause for alarm. That was simply life in the big city.

Spike whistled as he walked the pitch black tunnels, fetid air only broken by the sounds of scurrying feet and dripping water, and only lit by a pin point of red light from a cigarette end.

For the first time in weeks he actually had a plan that wasn't spur of the moment, borne of circumstance toppling circumstance and lucky break by lucky break. Without knowing it, he was slowly waking up, coming back to the world he was so eager to be out of.

* * *

Spike staggered into the apartment at sunrise, as Buffy was emerging from her room. They stared. For a few convenient hours, they'd had the luxury of being out of each other's supremely unwanted company.

Spike's lips twitched once before he gave in and laughed. A silly, giggling, definitely tipsy laugh as he pointed at her uniform. "You - you look like you ought to be out milkin' cows and skippin' down the yellow brick road."

Buffy glanced at the red and white gingham she wore and wished she could just melt into the floor. She put it on every day. It was ugly, and cheap, and she hated it. But before she'd never noticed that. It was just what Anne wore. It slipped over her head and cloaked her body, hiding Buffy completely. She was just a uniform and name tag, no one looked twice at her. If anyone was asked if they'd seen someone matching her description, no one would know her. She was simply a waitress. Faceless. "The girl in the red and white dress". She preferred being just a piece of cloth to being the one who turned her lover into a monster and then murdered him just as he finally came home to her.

"Just move." Buffy muttered softly, and walked past him, raising the blinds.

"Oi! Leave that down, I'll get my chestnuts roasted! I cut it fine as it was." He protested, running over to the windows, putting the brown bag he was carrying down with a chink of glass and slosh of liquid.

"You stink. Like- eeww. What is that?"

"Bottom shelf spirits. Oh- and sewer." Spike sniffed at his coat with a shrug.

"Did you at least wipe your feet before you came in here?" She asked horrified, looking back at the rug. Slightly damp imprints crossed it. "You're cleaning that up!"

"It'll dry!"

"It's sewer water! It's not allowed to dry, it has to be cleaned up and de-germed!"

"Disinfected?" Spike suggested.

"Yes! That!" She put both hands to her head, realized her hair was matted down and turned abruptly back to her bedroom. "I'll pay for trash bags and paper plates, and you have to get the hardware stuff."

"I'm not going out in this! I'll bally well burn."

"Thought you had a death wish." She complained.

"Maybe I don't at this particular moment." He countered.

"Fine, then get it tonight when you go out! And-" She paused, and came back out, hands fiddling in her hair. "You better shower."

"I do."

"No, I mean you better shower _now_. You've been in a sewer."

"Oh for heaven's sake, I didn't play in the mud, Mummy." He mocked.

"I am not going to die of sewer diseases because you can't walk around town! Why couldn't you walk around town, it was dark, it was the middle of the night!"

"Fastest way to get to the other side of the city, no traffic. No one saw me."

"No one saw you-" Buffy felt an excruciating weight crushing her from the inside out. She knew exactly what he was doing. She knew exactly what to say, and what she should do, what she should have done at first. _I'm the Slayer. He's killing people, and I have to stop him. But I don't- I _can't _do this anymore, this killing and fighting. It's done. _I'm _done. He can kill me, and then I was just a victim, and what could I do? Sometimes- _she thought of the lost, tortured eyes of Angel as his soul returned, how he kissed her and reached out for her- and she killed him- _sometimes I would rather be the victim than the hero. The hero has to live with the guilt of losing all the ones she didn't save._

"No one saw you kill people." She raised her eyes slowly to meet his, spoke in a low, almost questioning voice.

He leaned close to her, eye to eye. "What'd you think I've been living on?" He asked, a sinister breath across her cheek. Waiting for it. Waiting for her to snap and the blood to fly.

It didn't. She didn't pull away, she whispered, "I didn't really care."

They both backed up, hastily, staring, puzzled at her words.

_What do I mean I didn't really care? I had to realize it, somewhere of course I must've thought about it! People are dying! Of course I care. Just because I'm ready to die, doesn't mean they were! So I'm not the Slayer, I can't just stop caring when people die!_

_What the bloody hell does she mean, she doesn't care? She's the Slayer! Of course she cares, it's what she does! Vamp kills human, Slayer fights vamp, vamp or Slayer dies, the end of that fight, send on the next vamp or Slayer, start again. That's what makes it fair, that's what makes them worth tracking and hunting. It's the only fair fight a vamp can ever have._

She cleared her throat awkwardly, blinking like she was waking up. "You can't do that. Kill people."

"Yeah? Who's gonna stop me? Little Red Riding Hood?" He sneered. She didn't immediately respond, so he goaded, both of them licking their too dry lips. He tugged at the skirt she wore. "Don't tell me Little Red is afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"

"Nothing about you scares me." Buffy said in a completely dead voice. Not even anger, or hatred, or annoyance. Spike took his hand off hurriedly.

"Yeah, well. Nothing about you scares me, either."

They stared momentarily. Was it true? Not entirely. Was it a close enough to the truth to make the bluff seem ironclad? Absolutely.

Two expert liars faced off, masking weariness and longing for an out with poker faces glued in place.

"I'll be late for work if I don't start walking soon." She pushed past him, and picked up her purse. She regarded him with calm, placid eyes, sparkless and empty, not like lakes, like craters. "I can't be late again, so I can't fight you right now. Don't kill anyone- or I'll stake you where it hurts- but isn't fatal." She put her hand on the doorframe and tossed out- "Then I'll rip out your eyeballs and toss them into rush hour traffic. I'm betting those don't grow back."

"Ooh, Slayer's got a mouth on her. Angelus teach you to think like that?" Spike snarked mockingly.

Red hot flares emerged in her eyes, but just for a second. "No. _You_ did." She leaned on the doorway as her cool, detached face came down again. "Some pale idiot told me not to repress." She smiled saccharinely. "Seriously- stay." She pointed to the floor and he bridled angrily. His mouth opened to tell her off, say how he'd never take orders from her, but she was still speaking. "Oh, and don't use my soap!"

She slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Spike let out a deep, stifled noise of rage as she departed, and kicked the end table- catching the telly and setting it back down in one graceful, if angry, movement when the table rocked forward and back.

"Alright. Dinner time." He went to his brown bag and surveyed his choices of alcohol for the day. Daytime was the hardest. Thoughts could only be held at bay for so long, and they turned into dreams if you were just asleep, not actually unconscious and even then... So, liquor was the key. That and finding someway to stop the boredom, the crack in the wall that thoughts seeped through.

"Hmm. Let's see how many channels we've got, shall we?" He pulled the armchair close, turned the tube on, and uncorked a bottle of something strong enough to fell a horse.

"Dammit. Only five channels, and all of them news at this hour." He sipped and lit up. "All thing considered- not too bad."

Daytime used to start with him bedding down with Dru. Her soft, cold fingers playing down his chest, her razor sharp nails caressing him, raising a fine line of blood to share. A sigh of "My Sweet William." Then they'd make love, laughing, pounding love, full of blood and lust and power.

He looked at the screen with its faint snow-like background, the cheap whiskey he was drinking alone, and the creaking chair he was sitting in. All things considered- not too good.

He stayed in the chair most of the day, working through the bottles and the pack of cigarettes. He still hadn't brought an ashtray, so butts were in one bottle and ash was everywhere. He looked at the screen, but he saw nothing.

* * *

"Nothing extra tonight, Anne, sorry." Kate waved at Buffy as the blonde rested a minute on the counter's edge. "You look like you could use some rest though. Maybe put your feet up, or soak in the tub."

"Uh-huh." Buffy nodded, and started pulling on her white sweater. "Goodnight."

Kate stared after her as she disappeared out the back. She shook her head. She was a pretty little thing, men tipped her nice, but the girl never smiled. Barely spoke.

* * *

Spike woke up with a snort. Dusk was falling, and he must have fallen too. He stretched in the chair, and pushed the button under the screen to turn the television off. His stomach growled, despite the fact that he was now getting used to his senses being permanently permeated with the scents of humans all the time.

"Well- she didn't say I couldn't eat. Just couldn't_ kill_." He smirked. "But first..." His smirk broadened. "I believe a shower is in order."

Humming to himself, he walked to his room- then hers, and found a towel. A bar of soap was already resting on the sink, as well as a bottle of shampoo. "She said not to use the soap. Said nothing at all about towels or - ooh, tropical vanilla shampoo." With a deviant chuckle, he turned on the water, stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the moderately forceful stream.

He knew he was only pulling the tiger's tail with these little jibes and annoyances, but that was the best way to make the kitty to put her claws out. He whistled in the shower, and eventually it tuned into full out, semi-inebriated caterwauling. When he was done, he dried himself- very thoroughly, left one particularly pointed parting shot, and went out on the town.

* * *

"It's me." Buffy kicked the door lightly. "Spike!" She huffed, juggled her purse, sweater, two grocery bags, and a broom as she dug through her handbag for her keys. Why is he only here when it's really inconvenient, and when you actually need him to open the door, he's out?

She came in and had to grope around for a light switch. The blinds were shut and the overhead light and floor lamp were both off. When the lights were on, she really wished they weren't. Three empty whiskey bottles, one full of damp, used cigarettes, were surrounding the chairs, one chair had been moved practically on top of the television, and the whole place smelled like a bar. She hurriedly sat the groceries down, opened the blinds, and the windows, and angrily began unpacking her bags.

Trashcan liners, _slam_. Milk, _slam_. Cereal, _slam_. Toilet paper, _thud_. Paper bowls, plastic cups, paper plates, plastic spoons, forks, and knives, _slam, slam, slam, hurl._ Carpet cleaner and broom, _crash, slam, clunk_. By the time she was done unpacking, she was in a lather. _Calm down. He's trying to get under you skin. Just go- wash up, and calm down. _

With clenched fists and forcedly expressionless expression, she walked to the bathroom, to wash off her day in a scalding shower.

A scream of rage echoed up and down the halls, piercing and frustrated enough to shake even the jaded residents used to unfortunate occurrences. Her towel was damp and tossed on the floor, her shampoo was open and on its side. Her soap was perfectly dry, and left in place. However- the toilet seat was not.

"I'm going to kill him!" Buffy screeched.

* * *

Down in the parking lot, lazing against the seats of his car, windows rolled down to let the night air in, Spike heard the scream of rage pour from the open windows, followed by the threat. He smirked smugly. "Mission accomplished." He put the black DeSoto in gear and cranked up the volume on his radio. "Spike, one. Slayer, zero."

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: Bear with me on some complex inner monologues, please. It's a transitional chapter. Much appreciated._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Blade Redwind, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, Schural, Seapea, Kira-The-Shinigami , and 666 . Also thank you to the guest reviewers. If you aren't getting review replies- make sure you're signed in and have your PM function on so I can respond!_

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part VI**

_Kind of like a buffet._ Spike bit down on his fourth human of the night. He was learning to play the game differently than he'd ever played it before. He'd been to four areas of the city, and he'd stopped biting his victims in the same place. Two on the neck, the third and fourth on the radial artery. The next one, not for tonight, because he was actually full for the first time in days, but tomorrow night, he'd use his knife and just drink the blood as it flowed. No bites. No patterns. No one would catch him. He didn't like to make new little vamps, no patience to train them, no desire to teach them how to hunt and not get caught, and certainly no need to turn the city into an undead rock fest attracting the attention of the white hats of the world, so unlike most of the LA vampire population, he had to worry about bodies. Or he had before tonight.

Instead of being brash and brawling, the scourge, he was being stealthy, sneaky, a shadow player. The lion had become the little black cat.

He frowned. He didn't like that imagery the more he thought about it. The creeping cat was just one step before becoming the cowering rat, slinking through sewers and living in filth. Better to die before being that dishonored. Being left by Dru was bad enough, but at least since he'd left Brazil, he wasn't mooning after her like a love sick calf, the portrait of a broken man. No of course, he was, he was dying, he would grovel and beg at Drusilla's feet if it would be sure to reunite them. But that hadn't worked, and he'd put thousands of miles between them to try and ease the pain.

The point being though, no one _knew_ he was turning into that lowly, lovelorn creature. He avoided the LA vamps studiously after the first few days. He could say he was fine if no one saw evidence to the contrary. He could say he was holding his own if he clawed his way back up.

Or if he went out with so much flash that he'd be a legend for the next millennium, more of a legend than he'd made himself in just a century and a half. Being done in by the best Slayer in a millennium, the Slayer who'd slaughtered the Master and Angelus- that would do it.

Taking her out would be even better.

He pushed the unconscious human away from him, and propped her up against the wall. "You'll have a headache in the morning, Tasty. But you'll wake up. Bloody Slayer. Still savin' people by proxy." He patted the female's cheek and strolled off.

Time for the less fun part of the night. The "errands". Liquor store, cigarettes, and God help him, the all night hardware store.

"I wouldn't have to play nice if I just killed her in her sleep." At which point she'd manage to kill you with a piece of chair or decapitate you using her bare hands, or burn you to death with your own lighter. When she was pushed- she came back strong. He'd been sure Angelus would murder her that day in Sunnydale, but two months later, here she was, alive, and Angelus was in hell. She was resourceful. He'd said it from the second he watched her in action. A worthy adversary.

Or she had been, once.

Then again, so had he.

When the bloodlust was sated and the hunt was done, emptiness invaded him. The final part of the night never happened like it was supposed to. Every part of his life, every part of his day, his night, his hunt, his kill- was shared with Dru. When he was active, he could focus his mind on what was in front of him, not what wasn't but ought to have been.

_That's why Slayer works herself to death, looks half starved, can barely walk, let alone kick my ass- she drowns her miseries and heartbreak by working herself until she collapses. I just use alcohol, quicker, less effort, and a damn sight better on the tongue._

He made his way back to the car, mind refusing to quit its clamoring. It needed the fix, the liquid sleeping aid in the form of fermented rye.

"See a lot of her, in me." He shuddered. "Hate that. So why don't I just do it, an' if she turns on me, she turns on me? It's done. Either way, it's done."

_Because, Nancy Boy, you know how you want to die. And it's nothing like you say. If you go, you want to leave a legacy your lady would be proud of. Even if she tells you she's not your lady anymore, your heart won't believe that. You creep along in this existence, not waiting to die, but waiting to come back to life. And that's why you play cat and mouse with the Slayer. She's creeping along, too. _

_ It has to end. You have to have the decision maker, the game-changer happen, William. But there's only one thing you think would make Dru proud, one gamble big enough to take, a pot big enough that you'd risk your immortal unlife for it. You don't know if Dru will give a toss, but you believe she will, so you'll take the risk - to be taken out by the best, or to take out the best._

_When both of you are at your best. Not happiest, not the best of health- but ready for the best bloodsport battle you've ever seen. The angriest, the bitterest, the readiest ever to kill or be killed. _

_ Drive her mad. Fan the flames. She'll return the favor. _

_When both of you hate this life enough- one of you will make the final move. _

His spine was straight and his eyes were clear. His mind was sharpened down to one point. Sometimes you have no power in your life, but you can have it in your death. Both William and Spike would be satisfied- if he died, or was victorious for love, and if he died by the hand of, or if he slaughtered, the most deadly creature in its most deceptive package. After the biggest defeat of his life, losing Dru, he was finally in a win-win situation.

* * *

_If he's going to play "Let's annoy the roommate", I'm going to win._ Buffy woke up before sunrise, her senses tingling in an unfamiliar way. She wasn't exactly rested, but she was alert much earlier than usual. Maybe because she wanted to catch him coming in.

She got up, got dressed, and took all of her stuff from the bathroom and put it in her bedroom. _But that's pointless. He can come in anyway. Maybe there's a way to deinvite him from one room. I could ask Willow-_ Her mental brakes slammed on as the wall came down over her memories. _Do not think of Willow! Do not even THINK of asking Willow to help you! To help you live in LA in a shabby low-rent apartment with Spike. You're so stupid. Look at how you endanger people without even thinking about it. Slayers _should_ be alone. Slayers shouldn't even _exist_. Asking one person to bear a burden like this- it's just wrong. If I shouldn't exist- why am I still stuck here?_

Spike finding her was a sign. She couldn't outrun her past. Or maybe she hadn't run far enough. Or maybe that her duty wasn't done. Screw that. She was done, no matter what anyone told her. And she was tired of running. It was hard to run when what was chasing you came from your own mind.

Not running. Not killing. But fighting him at his own game? So on.

* * *

"Good morning." Buffy greeted him from behind the front door, slipping out from behind it as he entered.

"Slayer." He said with a trace of surprise in his voice. "You're up early."

"You're home late." She replied.

"Wasn't aware I had a curfew."

"You do. It's called sunrise." She confronted him. "You used my stuff. You left booze and cigarettes everywhere. You _left the seat up_, Spike!"

"Poor little Slayer. Did your skinny little bottom fall in?"

"Do not. Use. My. Stuff. Ever, ever, _ever_, again." She walked backwards from him. "Or I'll kick you out."

"You can't."

Buffy put on a pout and her widest eyes. "Mr. Carlsby, there's something strange about my roommate. He's bothering me. I'm worried what he might do. Can you see if the PHA did a background check on him before they rented to him?" The transformation was very believable. Empty shell to helpless waif in under six seconds.

"You wouldn't! They'd check you out too!"

"But I wouldn't mind watching the police come and walk you down the stairs into the sunlight. I'd come along quietly, at the same time, just to see you burst." She said, polishing her nails on her shirt, the picture of indifference.

"I'd kill you first."

"Not if I was already gone." Buffy had walked herself backwards to the living room blinds. With a sudden jerk of her wrists the blinds were completely up, the beginnings of daylight streaming through the windows. "I'm on my way to work, what's to stop me from just not coming home?"

"Put it down! Slayer, put that down!" Spike winced. The sunlight wasn't strong enough to burn him yet, but he felt like he was sitting on hot coals, his skin prickled uncomfortably.

"What about my stuff?"

"I won't touch it!"

"Good. Then you can close 'em yourself." She neatly stepped away as he hissed and moved forward, dropping the brown grocery sacks from his arms, throwing his coat up across his face. "You look like Dracula when you do that." Buffy teased saucily.

"You don't even know him. Poncey bugger." Spike spat.

While he was yanking on the blinds, Buffy dove into one of the bags he'd brought home. Ah ha. Packs of cigarettes. She was silent and quick, unconsciously using her slayer reflexes to pull them out and tuck them into her purse as it hung from her shoulder. She was halfway out the door before he even turned around. "If you drink three bags worth of bottles today- you clean them up. And- and open the windows once it gets dark! I don't need to get drunk off of fumes, okay?"

Spike stood in the dim room now, watching her slip out of the door. "Alright, alright! And it's not all booze."

"Oh pardon me, cigarettes, too." She said with false gravity.

"No." He growled, twitching one eyebrow. "It's all the spackle an' sand paper an' the rest. I was gonna get it done today." He was. It was better than daytime television, and he needed the distraction.

Buffy felt a pang of appreciation. Then entitlement. He was supposed to do this. And he was home all day, not out earning an honest living like she was. Speaking of which- she stepped back in- "Did you hurt anyone last night?" She hissed.

"What the hell does that have to do with spackle?"

"Just answer!"

"Hurt, yes, kill, no."

She closed her eyes. "Hurt bad? Are they _going _to die?"

He considered. "Aren't all you human types going to die?"

She paused, not expecting that answer. "Guess so. Twice, if you're lucky." She said ruefully.

"If we're lucky." He agreed, a half smile crossing his face suddenly.

_Oh yeah. He died already, too. It didn't take. _She chuckled inside her head, a cynical, harsh sound. _Two freaks, aren't we? Sometimes he seems like a person, not a monster, and even when we talk about killing stuff, it's easy to suddenly see him as just a pale guy with an annoying streak. Just another human freak, already dead and wanting to go again. Like me._

"No one'll die 'cause of me, not from last night, not from tonight. Not if they look after themselves. Common sense, you get bit, you go get to a hospital. 'Course these people were all out being drunken easy targets, so common sense might not apply..."

"Tell me about it. All the times I pulled some vamp off a girl at the Bronze and I just wanted to tell them-" _Stop thinking about the Bronze! Stop thinking about dancing, and laughing, and Willow and Xander, and how Angel was waiting for me inside sometimes, and how Angelus was waiting for me outside sometimes... Just stop it, just stop. New life, new subject, let's go!_

"Thank you for getting the hardware stuff."

Spike didn't expect that. _The mighty Slayer, thanking little old me? She didn't even thank me for helping save the world, but repair a few holes in the wall and you're golden._ "You're welcome." He was startled into replying.

And then she was gone, out the door.

Another glorious day of waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn't sure, but it wasn't here yet. He'd know when it was. First things first. Dinner. "Mr. Daniels, may I introduce you to Mr. Marlboro?"

He took two of the bags to the armchair closest to the television. Slayer hadn't cleaned up after him. He went to sit down and shouted in pain. He turned and looked in the seat. Cleaning supplies and a trash bag. "Subtle, Slayer." He shook his head. "Little thing, playing kiddie games." He swept everything to the floor with one swipe of his arm, and crashed back in the chair, earning an ominous crack from the struts inside. He flipped on the television and lifted out a bottle and felt around for a pack.

After several minutes of staring at the news and wondering what the hell it took to get mentioned on it- a puzzled frown came over his face. He stopped rummaging in the bag and peered in it.

"Where'd they go?" He got up and unceremoniously dumped the bag from the hardware store on the carpet. "Well, where'd I put them?"

He went through his coat pockets, his jean pockets, checked all three of his bags, emptied them, and shook them out. "I paid for them!" He checked the receipt. "I saw him put them in the bags, no one swiped 'em. No one would dare come up on me an' pickpocket, no one's that stupid."

_"Oh pardon me, cigarettes, too." _Buffy's voice played in his head unexpectedly. "How'd she know I had cigarettes in the bag- unless she saw 'em! And took 'em!" He groaned and sank back down in the chair amidst the clutter.

If there was one thing that could make a casual smoker into a nicotine fiend, it was the knowledge that you couldn't have a smoke. He couldn't go out now. Sun was up, the stores had big picture windows, and he wanted a flame the size of a Zippo's wick, not the size of his entire body.

Well, not like he hadn't had weeks, even months where he hadn't smoked. Not like he had the biological cravings of withdrawal. Not a problem. Nope. Not like he couldn't wait until tonight.

* * *

By noon he was tossing and turning in his bed, he'd drunk three bottles and couldn't sleep, and he was twitching like a man in the grip of a seizure. "Oh she's good. I knew she was good. I just didn't think she could be so vicious..."

* * *

Buffy cautiously unlocked the front door around five in the afternoon. She'd treated herself and taken the bus home, tired of her long walks at dawn and seemingly even longer walks at night. The elevator was still down and on the ninth flight of stairs she'd seriously considered just pitching a tent in the landing.

Part of it was tiredness. Part of it was not really wanting to see Spike. What if he hadn't even noticed the cigarettes and he laughed in her face when she came in pleased with herself? Or what if he was furious? She'd just stooped to his level. More reasons to hate this life. She not only failed at being something, she failed at being nothing. She couldn't keep emotions out, and what ones did she let in? The stupid, petty kind.

Spike body slammed her against the door the second it was closed. She gasped and felt his hands all over her, body pressed to hers, whiskey and hints of- tropical vanilla?- washed over her.

For a split second her heart gave a shudder and felt alive. So close to someone. To anyone. She hadn't been touched by someone she knew in months. Even like this- just to feel familiar hands running down her arms. His touch was cool. Skin like Angel's. She was torn from that heartbreaking reflection by his hoarse voice attacking her ears from bare inches away.

"Where are they?" He roared and his hands stopped digging over her body and ripped off her purse, yanking the zipper back. "Oh thank God!"

Buffy watched him wide eyed. The vampire tore off the cellophane and jammed a thin white cylinder in his mouth with shaking hands. He lit up and sighed in relief, smoke spiraling around his now blissful face.

"That is the saddest thing I've ever seen. And six bottles? Three whole bottles a day?" She pointed to the ring of glass around the chair. "You're addicted."

He was peevish and he hated that he'd become so dependent on these cheap substitutes, these human comforts, so he lashed back. "So are you. Addicted to being a martyr. At least _my_ addictions give me a little happy, a little moment to forget. You never forget, do you, Slayer? Just wear yourself down 'til you can't think straight at the moment. But you're never happy and you never forget. You never will."

Buffy was taken aback. She was scared that it was true, the forgetting part. In fact, she already knew it was true, but she tried so hard to repress the thoughts, the feelings of the past. She had no answer for her memories, but for her happiness- she knew all about that. "I don't want to be happy. I don't want to feel _anything_- certainly not fake things." She pointed to the bottles with a trembling finger.

"That's where we differ." He lit the second cigarette off the first, butt going into an empty bottle.

Silence held for a few moments, until Buffy sighed and headed down to her room.

"Well played, by the way." He called after her.

"It's not a game. It's payback."

"Then that's the name of the game. Bitch." He smiled through a wreath of bluish gray.

"Spike- don't start. Just don't do anything to me, or talk to me. I'm too tired for this." She looked around the place. It was half repaired, and the floor- the floor was like the worst liquor store ad in history. "I can't- deal with this." She went to her room, dragging herself off. Her stomach made a feeble noise of protest, but she didn't care.

Cool skin. Human touch. Too tired to think, but can't forget. Feel nothing, but hurts so much. She curled up in a ball, still in her uniform, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

She was crying. She wasn't ever going to get better. Annoying her hadn't worked. Complimenting the way she played him, that hadn't worked. No matter what happened to the girl, it seemed to just crush her. Slayers are born to die, but it wasn't supposed to be this slow, lingering death.

Vamps are made to live forever, but he was merely biding his time until kick off.

_What screwed up people we are. Us non-people. _

Her sobs nagged at him, and yet he didn't leave, go out in the night where he couldn't hear them. Nor did he go in and silence her once and for all. He waited for them to stop, wondering, the thought pressing on him with the persistence of a terrier worrying a rat, why her sounds should haunt him so.

_Oh right. I make that sound, too._

He absently began picking up his empties and picked up a piece of sandpaper.

* * *

She woke up, and she knew she hadn't been out for long. The sky was still dark. So why was he still here? She knew he was. She could hear him moving around.

_Probably waiting to humiliate me. I know he heard me crying. Whatever. Get it over with._

She resolutely stepped out in the hall, and was surprised by what she saw. Spike smoking (that was no shock), humming something with the cigarette clamped between his lips, sanding away. The floor was clean, except for the piles of white spackle dust lining the wall's edge where they'd fallen after being sanded off. The windows were open. The last few dents in the wall had been patched.

Buffy opened her mouth a few times. She wanted to thank him, or praise him, maybe even jab at him for turning into Mr. Home Repair Vamp of the year. Instead she walked past him to the kitchen.

Don't say thank you or anything, Spike snarled mentally as he watched her skirt him from the corner of his eye. _Well, why would she? She's like the living dead, and I don't mean the fun kind, like me. More like a shell that moves around on its own._

He was secretly pleased for some reason when she came back, carrying the broom and dustpan she'd bought and started sweeping up after him.

* * *

They worked in silence for most of the night. Sanding, sweeping, stirring up paint and painting, scrubbing at the carpet.

"It's almost daylight." Buffy said finally, clearing her throat.

"I know. You should sleep."

"You should eat."

"I'm not sleepy."

"I'm not hungry."

"Liar." Accused both in unison.

They sat, sprawled in chairs, both not back in their original places, and stared at one another through half-lidded eyes.

"I do need a shower." Buffy finally said.

"Right." He nodded lazily.

"I don't wanna move." She whined slightly.

"If you want me to carry you in and dump you on the floor, I'd be happy to." Spike snarked.

"There will be no carrying and no dumping." Buffy managed a flicker of a smile.

More silent sitting. Until- "What are we going to do?" She whispered, looking at her hands as they rested on her stained uniform's skirt.

_What an excellent question. Wish I had an answer. I have a half assed answer, but if that's all you've got-might as well use it._ "We wait."

She didn't ask "Wait for what?" She knew. And he knew. She asked, "Until when?"

_Another bloody good question._ "We'll know."

"Will we?" She laughed brokenly, shaking her head once, a long, slow sweep. "Because I don't know anything anymore, and I keep thinking- it should have happened already."

"Me, too."

"So when do we know?"

"When we just can't bear the way things are for one more second." He answered in a dark, grating voice.

They paused, feeling the tension, feeling around their minds. _Can you take it? Can you live another moment? _There's that annoying little fear that you don't want to die, and the less annoying thing called hope that lies to you, says it'll all be better. And you've lived lies for so long, for so well, you start to believe.

"I need to eat."

"I need a shower."

They were both out of their chairs without a backwards glance. That "one more second" was coming, but they tried to prolong the inevitable, listening to that sweet little lying hope inside their heads.

* * *

When he came back, she was gone. A long strip of brown paper grocery bag was draped across the top of the television.

_Stop using my shampoo. _In much smaller letters: _Don't wait up._

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Lynbie, Illusera, Cavementftw, Schural, Seapea, Kira-The-Shinigami , and Captain Possible. Also thank you to the guest reviewers. If you aren't getting review replies- make sure you're signed in and have your PM function on so I can respond!_

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part VII**

He obeyed her parting note, though he refused to call it obedience. He made sure he was gone when she got home, she made sure to leave before he came back. A second bottle of shampoo appeared in the bathroom and strips of grocery sack became their only form of communication for several days.

The first notes were brief, factual, responses usually left eight to twelve hours after the first comment.

_Until it's time, we should keep out of each other's way. If you need to talk- leave notes._

_ Alright, then. Your precious shampoo is safe._

* * *

_Buy an ashtray._

_ Done. Close the bloody blinds when you leave._

_ Done._

* * *

_I've penciled you in for a duel to the death._

_ When I have time. Summer is the busy season._

_ Take your time. I want your best._

_ Not gonna happen._

_ Why? Aren't I worth it, Slayer?_

She never wrote back. He waited for her to get home that night.

* * *

"Why? I'm not worth it? I'm nothing, nothing worth fighting, is that it?" He asked as soon as she got in the door.

"Don't, okay? I have a really bad headache, I spilled coffee all over myself, and I need to do laundry."

"Then answer me so I can go."

"Do you have quarters?"

"Wait, I think I - Slayer! Answer me!" He reached out and gripped her shoulder. "Am I not even worth the fight?"

She faced him. Such angry, needy, sunken eyes. Like her, minus the anger and need. Her eyes, when she dared to look in the mirror and see a face she hated, were blank, empty, and heavily darkened. "It's hard to fight your best, when you're feeling your worst. I already did that. And I'm way burned out."

"Reckon you are." He replied thoughtfully. "In your own time then."

He lingered, staring at her for a moment, looking hesitantly at her like he was about to tell her something, maybe give her advice, one lovesick soul to another. He nodded instead and disappeared into the night.

* * *

The notes gave way to few minute conversations, morning and evening, that were not exactly hostile, although no one could call them pleasant.

"Do vampires pee?" Buffy asked one morning in an aggravated, woeful voice.

Spike almost dropped the vodka he'd decided to try. "No." His voice turned into a slick suggestive tone, surprising them both, actually. "Only one thing we do with that particular piece of equipment."

She swallowed. "I thought so." With an effort she collected herself. "Then why is the seat up whenever I go in?"

"To brass you off." He said carelessly.

"Stop doing it- or I'll start leaving the blinds up."

He gave her a mulish look. "Spoil everything."

"Yeah, that's me. Ms. Spoiler." Her eyes flickered.

Dammit. She felt everything so deeply. He meant she was a killjoy, and she went leaping off to all the other ruinations in her life. "I meant you were just bein' a-" _Oh bollocks, don't say killjoy, either, that'll send her into one of those weepy fits._

"A what?"

"An annoying person." He settled on.

Buffy raised one eyebrow. "An annoying person? That's all?" Her eyebrows lowered suspiciously. "Are you okay?"

"No." He grunted and stalked into his bedroom.

When he came out later, the blinds were down, and his vodka had been put in the fridge. There was a single line on the grocery bag today.

_Feel Better._

* * *

"They're calling him Jack. There were two more last night." Dana bustled out of the diner's walk-in fridge, all gossip and desserts to be put in the display case.

"You never know where he'll strike." Kate said in a low, thrilled voice.

"He never kills though."

"Not yet. But he could at any time."

Buffy's ears perked up. Her scrambled egg platter rocked perilously as she turned. "Who? What?"

"The Los Angeles Slasher. Jack. They call him Jack, you know, after Jack the Ripper? He never kills though, just spills their blood." Dana whispered in gruesome glee. "Victims don't remember a thing but they wake up, bleeding to death in alleys and parks and bar parking lots."

"Sounds like aliens to me." Chimed in Pedro, one of the cooks.

"Why?"

"No memories, man! And the punctures on some of 'em. Like they took blood samples."

"Oh for goodness sake, Pedro, aliens?"

"They were all robbed. Why would aliens want money?"

"Kate?"

Anne's voice was so rarely heard, and never in that direct, attention-getting manner, that everyone in the kitchen stopped talking. "Yes, Anne?"

"Do you mind if I leave at four today?" That was usually when her shift ended, but Buffy seldom left at that time these days. She preferred to leave closer to five, to help with the early bird diners, mostly seniors, who seemed to come in between four and six. She had other motives as well. Avoiding her roommate was the primary one, needing money was the other.

"Sure. Are you feeling okay?"

"Uh. Just- tired. I'm fine, I'll be fine if I can get home and- take care of some stuff." Buffy admitted before sinking back into her "Anne stupor". _Look what I'm letting happen. I have to stop him. I can't kill him. I don't kill. Not yet. Not ever again. What am I going to do?_

* * *

Spike was having one of his peaceful slumbers, a rare thing. He was enjoying dreamless, undisturbed sleep today, and then Dru's voice, like a silk spiderweb, was wrapping round and round his head, choking him. "Ashes. Ashes. Ashes..." She crooned, each whisper throbbing and intensifying until he winced in his sleep.

He smelled ashes. No, he smelled-

"Spike! Spike! Wake up!" The Slayer was beside him, shaking him.

"Huh? What? What!" He half sat up with a shocked cry, amazed to find the petite blonde female half straddling him now, a thick phonebook in her hand.

Buffy planted the directory on his bare chest and glared at him from above. He looked vastly different asleep. Face slack, body at rest- it was still a fighter's body, ridged and muscled and lithe. But bare foot and half dressed- oh holy cow, half unzipped, too, he looked like a careworn young man badly in need of sleep. It made her calm down, but only slightly. "Butchers." She pressed the book to his pecs.

"What? I'm havin' a dream, aren't I? Why can't I ever have the one where Dru an' I are in Paris?" He closed his eyes and swatted at the dream Slayer.

"I'm not a dream!" His hand brushed something soft, then wet. "Eww! Get your hand out of my mouth and open your eyes! We have to go to the butchers!"

"An' why the bloody hell do we have to do that?" He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but an angry gibbering form was perched heavily on him, now speaking faster.

"You have to stop hurting people! You're making the news!"

"I am?"

"Yes!"

"About time." Spike sank back and closed his eyes.

"What?" The book thunked him on the collarbone.

His eyes popped back open. "Not that I want to be noticed, mind, but honestly, I mean- all the little snacks I've had since I've been here, you'd think someone would notice at least one-"

"Spike!"

"I'm just happy someone noticed! I was wonderin' how dumb you... humans... were." His voice slowed as her eyebrows skyrocketed angrily. "I didn't kill anyone!" He defended himself, hand thrown up protectively. _Not this time_.

"Yippee for you! You're still beating people up and cutting open their arms or biting their necks, and eventually people are going to start hunting you down! And then they'll kill you, or lock you up, or use you to prove vampires are real. Next they'll be here! And then they'll be hunting _me _because- because they'll think I have evidence, or I'm an accomplice or something!" _Or because I just didn't do what I should've done and killed you the second I saw you._

"Calm down, calm down!" Spike winced. She might not be on active slaying duty lately, but she still had slayer strength, and her knees were crushing his ribs and her hands were about to go right through the book and into his sternum.

"Calm down? Why should I calm down? You're going to end up _killing _someone!"

"I do that! I'm _s'posed_ to do that! It's called eating!"

"Then eat animal blood." She slammed her open palm down on the book again for emphasis. "I know you can live on it." _Angel did._

He shot himself up with a grunt, knocking her off of his chest, landing her on her behind on the edge of the bed. "Listen. Animal blood works like this. _If _there are enough animals to hunt, yeah, and_ if_ they're healthy enough, and _if _you can get enough out of 'em- you can live on animals. But you're not as strong, you're not as fast, you're hungry more, you'll need to eat more or more often. It tastes like shit, there's no personality to it, no life, no life force. The demon gets cranky, an' I get weak! "

"But-"

"No! You know about the human end, I know about the vampire end, and you let me speak!" He shushed her."You want me to starve? You want to hurry things along, or just put the odds in your favor?" He demanded.

"I'm not trying to do anything to you!"

"You're tryin' to get me half-starved and half-strength!"

"You were doing that anyway when I showed up here! You couldn't even throw more than five punches without falling down!" Buffy hissed, clambering upright.

"Yeah, an' it'd be easy to get me back to that state in a week." He shook his head, lips curling. "No. No, just put me down now. I've seen vamps who haven't fed for weeks, months- flesh covered skeletons with dead, piss hole eyes. _No_. Not goin' out that way. Do it to me now. C'mon Slayer. Live up to your reputation."

"I don't have a reputation and I'm not the slayer. Stop calling me that! _Stop_ _calling me that _!" Her voice rose to something bordering hysteria.

Spike blinked. _I call her that all the time. I don't call her anything else. Why does she go off on me half the time?_ "Why not? Might as well call you what you are. You're gonna do me in, slow starvation or fast blow to the heart. I prefer the quicker option."

Making a great effort, and choosing her words very carefully- even though she didn't quite know why she was saying this- "I'm not going to let you starve. Okay? I promise."

Her words didn't make sense. This whole scenario was senseless. Two sworn, deadly enemies sick of life, but not quite sick enough, were facing off, screaming at one another...They should be offing one another, not promising to look after one another. "Why would you-" He began suspiciously.

She wouldn't let him finish, because she didn't really know the answer. And bluffing was sometimes hard to do. "Trust me."

"For God's sake, don't ask me to even think of-"

"Spike- I don't like to talk about it, I'll never talk about it again- but _you_ helped _me_ stay alive once."

"True." He admitted grudgingly. She sat on her knees, hands clasped loosely at her waist, face a picture of stress and anticipation. _Damn her. Why do I fight it? Doesn't matter. I just do._

With a heavy sigh, he reached down and dragged the phone book off the floor from where it had been flung. "Body shops, bookkeepers, bulls breeding, bulls mechanical, butchers." He leafed through it and stopped at the pertinent section. He shoved the book back into her arms and met her worried eyes with a dark, grim glare under lowered brows. "This stuff had better be cheap, and there had better be enough.

You want me on this swill, _you_ pay for it."

Buffy tore the relevant pages from the book. "Let's find out how much it costs first."

* * *

"They're probably not open."

"It's barely six o'clock!"

"You didn't have to come with me." Spike looked down at the girl walking beside him.

"You weren't going to go alone." She looked up. They walked as far apart as they could get while still being able to hear one another when speaking. He scowled, she wore a look of exhaustion and kept biting at her nails.

"You don't trust me?" Spike asked in an injured tone, face contorting to look innocently hurt.

"Nope."

"But you want _me _to trust _you_?"

"Shut up." She sighed and pushed open the door of the butcher's nearest to them. A little bell jingled and several flies took the chance to make an escape. Spike's arm latched onto her arm and tugged. "What?"

"When flies want to leave meat, that's a bad sign, you nit."

"Let's at least ask him!" Buffy dug in her heels.

The white coated butcher came to the edge of the glass counter and leaned towards them. "Can I help you folks?"

"Yeah uh- we'd like some um- blood." Buffy said, with shifty eyes, fingers fidgeting. Spike rolled his eyes and shoved her gently- sort of- aside.

"Look, mate. We're gonna need to eight pints, beef, six will do in a pinch. An' a standing order. Same again, every day. Alright?"

The butcher's expression had become increasingly disbelieving and and was now bordering on aghast and horrorstruck.

"Six to eight pints! As a standing order? Are you nuts? I maybe got three in the back. There's not a lot of call for this, Buddy, not a lot of call for it. To get that much- oooh." He took off his stained white cap and scratched his head with a frown. "You'd need a big place, a meat locker, stockyard, meat supplier or wholesaler, they'd have plenty of blood, but you'd need to tell 'em you want it in advance, almost all of it just goes right down the drain.

Buffy interjected before Spike could bite or bolt. "How much would that cost?"

"Three dollars a pint."

"What?" Spike slammed a fist down on the counter. "You'd just throw it out otherwise!"

"You some kind of weirdo?" The butcher backed up- towards his cleaver stuck on a hook above a stainless steel tray.

"No!" Buffy interposed rapidly. "He just uh- really, really wants me to try to make this um- blood pudding thing. He's English." Spike snarled. Buffy kicked his shins.

"Righty ho an' all the sort of thing." Spike muttered with his accent exaggerated. "We'll take it."

In blessedly few moments they'd left the shop behind, a brown bag swinging loosely in Spike's hand as if he couldn't bear to touch it. "You know you can't afford that."

"I'll find something cheaper." Buffy already had an idea about that.

Spike was oblivious. "I'll pay my own way, just like I pay my half, if it's gonna mean you can't make rent. Of course, then _I_ might have a bit of a problem making rent. Either way, this hurts one of us, which hurts the other one of us! And it was your buggered up stupid idea. This is bloody ridiculous, Slayer!" His reasoning derailed into an outburst of annoyance. "People out here don't miss a few pints! It's a city with three million soddin' bodies. D' you know how many years it would take me to sample them all, just a pint or two here an' there? Never miss it! So one paper has a bright idea and connects a few muggings, so what?"

"More than a few. You have a nickname already!They're calling you Jack. As in the serial killer dude, Jack the Ripper!"

"Oh for heaven sakes, serial killer my ass, that was Darla!" Spike spat.

"What?" Buffy stopped abruptly.

Unfortunately she stopped in front of an oncoming car.

"Watch it!" Spike reached back and snagged her hard, causing her to land on her bum on the concrete curb.

_Why'd I do that?_ Spike cursed himself.

_Why'd he do that?_ Buffy didn't know if she felt relieved, grateful, or regretful.

"Darla?" Buffy repeated.

"You didn't know that? I'm sure your Watcher knew, it's not a secret."

"Darla?"

"She had a thing for whores. She an' Angelus. Darla was one, you know."

"Darla?" _And Angelus? Angel?_

"Yes, Slayer. Dar-la." He enunciated clearly and helped her to her feet.

"Wow." She said in a dazed voice.

"You're gonna be stuck on that for awhile aren't you?" He groaned and half led, half hauled her home. It was several moments before either of them realized they were touching. Willingly. Non violently. They made a sound of mutual revulsion and parted hastily. "Look, even if I were to pay for it- though you should be the one footin' the bill-"Buffy threw her head back and sighed miserably. "Well, it was your idiotic idea!"

"Just finish the sentence, please. Before I rip off my own ears so I don't have to listen to you anymore!"

"I'll condense. How do I pay for _anything_- if I stop hunting?"

"You could get a job?"

"Where?"

_Right. Not exactly hirable._ "Um. You don't have to hurt anyone. Just say 'give me your wallet', take it, and run. Ooh, and turn up your coat collar so they can't see your face. You could get a hat."

"I don't wear hats."

"Ski mask?"

"What the hell are you sayin?" He turned to her sharply, finger in her face. "You're condonin' me robbin' people?"

"I'm condoning you doing what you have to. All of us have done bad things- to stay alive." Buffy backed away from his hand, sidestepped him and walked on. _What I did... no, what I did was worse than murdering all those people Spike killed in the last month, or the ones he bit in the last couple weeks. Spike just picks a target. I killed someone I loved. Because he changed, he was evil, sure. But who changed him? Me. I made him. Then I kissed him. Then I killed him._

Spike walked behind her in silence for a few yards before taking a few quick paces to draw alongside her. "You did a good thing." He whispered. _You saved the ruddy world. You saved my Dru. You killed that git Angelus. What's not to love?_

She shook her head, and the silence seemed to swell around them until she had to break it or be crushed under it. She spoke in a rush, like the dam breaking. "She put his soul back. Willow did, that day? He wasn't Angelus when I killed him. He was Angel. Actually_ Angel_. With a soul." _With love. For me._

It was Spike's turn to stop walking abruptly. "Bloody hell. He was-?"

"Yeah." Buffy's voice was softer, slower. Dam had burst, waters receded. "The portal was already opened though. I- couldn't stop it. So I- you know the rest."

The rest. That summed up so much very neatly. "You saved the world."

"I killed the person I loved most. When he was good, when he was waiting for me to help him understand. I took his life." The world, at least to her, seemed inconsequential.

Spike thought about it. Kill Dru, or save the world? There _was_ no world without Dru. There was no question. Better to die with her than live without her. But the Slayer didn't do that. All part of the Chosen One gig. You choose everyone else first, what you want comes dead last. No pun intended.

"Ah." Well, what the hell could you say?

She nodded.

"Sorry, Luv." Spike mumbled. His hand dared to graze her arm roughly, just a brush.

It still made her eyes well up. _Spike feels sorry for me. Hello, as low as you can sink, this is my stop._ "My life sucks."

"It sure does. The price for bein' the hero, yeah? The Slayer, the-"

"I'm _not _the hero. I'm_ not_ the Slayer. Please. Please stop calling me that."

There was genuine pleading in her voice. Spike had never thought she'd beg, she didn't even beg for her life. But this hurt worse than death. "Alright. Buffy it is."

"Anne at work." She added automatically.

"Buffy at home?" He double checked.

At _home_? She guessed what they had was close enough to call that. "Okay."

* * *

_I'll be home late. With dinner for you. And a mug._

Buffy capped her pen and pulled her hair up into a tighter ponytail. Spike had dozed off. She'd thought maybe he left, but she dared to peep through his door, and there he was, that same relaxed position as before, only this time his face was troubled in his sleep.

So he hadn't gone out last night at all. She actually felt bad for the guy. Apparently drinking cold blood was like eating cold, gelatinous soup, and extremely undesirable. However, microwaving plastic bags had not gone well. Neither did microwaving paper cups full of the stuff. And beef blood apparently tasted like crap. Her ears should have been literally blue from the amount of creative cursing she heard last night- and the microwave was never going to be clean again. Also, according to Spike, if he were drinking this "codswallop" on a regular basis, his alcohol bill would triple. He'd need something to kill the taste.

_We really can't afford this. Furthermore, your plan is so not going to work. Double furthermore, there should be no 'we' in terms of affording his food. If he makes enough to buy all that other bad for you junk, he can totally pay for his own dinner. Triple furthermore, this is beyond stupid. Why do you bother keeping him alive, when he should be dusted? He _wants_ to die, he's all miserable and heartbroken and not like you haven't killed both better and worse than him in your life._

_ Because it's better to live with the evil I know. I know how to handle Spike- kinda. Not so sure about another roommate. And because they can't make me kill anyone. I think I did my share of death already. I've hung up my stake and I like being Anne. That's a lie, but I like certain thing about being her. No one really bothers her, and she doesn't have to act like a cross between Rambo and Van Helsing every night. She has no friends to get hurt, no mom to disappoint, no dweeby yet evil principal just waiting to flunk her. No lover in hell, wondering what happened, why as soon as he "woke up" the woman who loved him shoved a sword into his chest and killed him. Compared to being the Slayer, I LOVE being Anne._

Buffy shook off her thoughts, exited the building, and trotted to work. She hoped she had her days right. It had been a long time since she had been aware of any days but the day rent was due, or the day she'd had to leave her old apartment. If she was mixed up, or if this didn't work, life was going to be really inconvenient.

* * *

"Meat man's here." Kate hollered into the kitchen.

"Order up!"

"Two slices of chocolate!

"Do we have change for a fifty?

"Anne" delivered her tables' orders with unprecedented speed and grace, and then she disappeared through the kitchen and out the back door. In the usual hustle, no one missed her.

* * *

Buffy stayed out of sight, listening to Pedro and Tim, two of the cooks, talking to the delivery man as they hauled boxes off the large refrigerated truck.

"You're my fifth stop already. Can you hurry up? I have ten more before five, and I need to head back out to the plant."

"Stop sitting on your butt, Mike, and we'll be faster." Tim grunted.

"I need to stretch my legs, I've been sitting in that thing most of the morning."

"Stretch 'em while you're carrying, c'mon." Pedro hefted a large box, and stumbled forward.

"I got it!" Buffy emerged from the shadows behind the doorway and caught one end of the heavy box as it began to fall.

"Sweet catch, thanks, Anne." Pedro smiled. He almost dropped it again when Anne smiled back at him. Anne never smiled. In fact, before yesterday, he couldn't remember ever hearing Anne _speak._

"No problem." Buffy hurriedly let go of the box and stepped around the two cooks as they entered the kitchen. She became the picture of meek, unnoticeable, unsmiling Anne immediately. She walked to the back of the truck in time to see the delivery man shutting the steel doors. "Uh- Mike? Is it Mike?" She asked uncertainly.

Mike tossed a cigarette to the ground and surveyed the person addressing him. "Kate want something?"

"No. No, um, I was wondering if you have-" _Here's the part where it all goes really bad,_ "any blood. Beef. Or- or pig. I mean pork. I don't care."

Mike shrugged. "I got some. But Kate never orders any."

"It's not for her. I want some."

"_You_ do?" He asked skeptically.

"Yes." She could see he was plainly waiting for her to explain more, but she remained mute, eyes fixed at the wall of the building behind him.

Mike shrugged again and adjusted his baseball cap with nicotine stained fingers. "I got about ten quarts frozen on me today. Keep it frozen 'cause it doesn't move."

_Could Spike eat frozen? Quarts? Quarts were bigger than pints, right? How'd that go, two cups to a pint, two pints to quart? Or was it four? It didn't matter, a quart was bigger and bigger meant more and more meant better. _"How much for all ten?"

"You want all ten?" His eyes bulged.

"How much?" Buffy reached in her apron pocket, past her little notebook, for her wallet.

"Couple bucks each. Twenty."

Buffy began counting out fives and ones, most of her money was in ones, her life was made in tips.

"But I can't sell you any."

"Huh?" Her head jerked up to see him smiling an almost self- congratulatory grin.

"You don't have a commercial venue and I can't sell to individuals. Wholesaler I drive for won't sell meat or meat products to places unless they're public entities with a health inspection in good standing."

Buffy actually snorted. "But you sell here? My kitchen is way cleaner. And food actually gets used by the expiration date." _When I eat. Ooh, I should probably eat today._

Mike laughed dryly. "It's all in the papers, Honey. Although in your case- I might make an exception."

Buffy felt relief flood through her, and she actually smiled. She shouldn't have. All the sudden the man was way too close, his smile now a leer. "Twenty? Hey!" She bit back a cry as a hand went to her waist and seemed intent on going south.

"Shh. A girl wants ten quarts of blood has to be a little bit of a freak. Or really like blood sausage. Either way... Mm, Kate's been hiding the pretty waitresses. If I'd 'a known about you, Sunshine, I'd 'a come in sometimes."

"Get your hand off my butt." Buffy said in a very cool, deliberately forcedly calm voice. She pushed his hand off, and stepped back, money still outstretched. Anne put up with the occasional slap on the rear. She'd never even objected before, just brushed it off like a fly landing on her arm.

"Don't be so mean, Baby-" He was leaning in, and his hands were back.

And suddenly, so was Buffy.

Mike found his offending hand twisted back up into the region of his shoulder blades and his face kissing brick. "This isn't even mean. This is mildly irritated." Buffy warned. "Now take my money, and give me the blood, and from now on I want you to bring- um- what's eight times seven?"

What?"

"Fifty six! I always sucked at my seven times tables, anyway- fifty six pints, that's how many quarts? " She blinked and looked skyward, doing mental math. "Carry the one... Okay, I want fourteen quarts every week. I'll pay you whatever, I just- I need them, and you can tell your wholesaler boss guy they're for Kate and I'll just put my money in with whatever she gives you." She tugged his arm farther up his spine. "Can you do that?"

"Uh- huh!" Mike nodded frantically, voice several octaves higher than it had been.

"Good. Then I'll stay nice. Nice Anne doesn't break fingers." Buffy let him go and as he scrambled to face her, she smiled slightly and proffered the twenty dollars yet again. Mike climbed into the truck backwards, eager to be away from her, yet unwilling to take his eyes off her. In seconds he was dropping a small brown box into her arms. "Free." He croaked.

"I'll pay!" Buffy felt shame washing over her. She wasn't a thug. She just hadn't liked being felt up. "I wasn't going to - I mean- you shouldn't have done that. I was going to pay. I'm still going to pay!"

"No, no, no. You keep it. This is on the house. Next week you can pay. Okay? Okay. Bye now." With a tug on his brim and a flurry of motion, he was darting past her, as if afraid to accidentally touch her, and into the driver's seat, squealing away, knocking over trash cans and recycling bins in his flight.

Buffy put her money away and walked slowly back into the restaurant. The kitchen was a bustle as inventory occurred and the cooking continued around it. Unnoticed, she slipped her box into the freezer.

"Where've you been?" Kate demanded when she slid past her. "Table six wants their check.

"Sorry. Little break." Buffy offered, her walls going back up. She'd been Buffy outside. Buffy who felt indignant and angry and now felt scared and ill at ease.

Kate realized what she wanted to say sounded terrible and so she just nodded. "Hurry up and take their bill over." Anne nodded and scooted away. What she'd wanted to say was- 'But you never take breaks'. Anne didn't. She was by far her best employee in that respect, hardworking and never asked for time off, came in early, worked late, quiet, didn't flirt, didn't bitch. For the illegally low wages she paid her under the table staff, Kate supposed she ought to treat Anne better. Anyone as good as Anne usually left within a couple days. Anne had been there a couple months and showed no signs of stopping._ I'm gonna do something nice for her. I'm gonna give her a day off sometime. _As the young waitress passed her on the way to the cash register, Kate asked cheerfully, "Little break? I didn't know you smoked."

"I-" _Don't. But if you want to think it, and it explains why I bolt out the back door whenever I see the meat truck- okay, I smoke._ "I let myself have one a week."

"Wow. You've got discipline, Honey."

"You have no idea." Buffy murmured, and began ringing up her customers.

* * *

Spike used all his willpower to stay inside and not go run into daylight to get booze to kill the taste of bovine blood and dull his mind. He used all his self-control not to go knock on a neighbor's door and have himself a snack.

Completely and utterly bored, he gave into two evils he was unfamiliar with. Housework and daytime television.

* * *

"Hey. Mr. Williams, right?"

"Uh-" _What was my name, what was it, oh, Smythe._ "William Smythe, yes." Spike shifted the load of laundry in his arms. They really ought to get a laundry basket. He stayed in the shadows, headed to the laundry room.

"Sorry. Lot of new people lately." The super pushed his dog off his lap. "Sit, Milton."

"Right." Spike tried to sidle away.

"You settle in alright?"

_We broke the bloody place._ "Fine, just fine."

"Your roommate is the little blonde girl?"

"Yes." _Oh God, what now? Did she rat on me?_

"Nice girl."

His tongue almost dissolved, but he forced it to say, "Yeah, nice girl."

"You two getting along?"

_We're waitin' to off each other._ "Like a house on fire."

"So glad. A lot of these PHA roommate match ups go terribly wrong."

"Don't I know." Spike guffawed. This earned him a faintly curious look, so he hastily said, "Heard some horror stories." _And boy can I tell 'em too._

"Well, I'll let you get on with the laundry. You dropped your- bra?" Mr. Carlsby bent with an effort and handed Spike a simple white cotton garment.

"Not mine. Bu- Anne's. I work nights, see, an' I'm tryin' to get my chores done."

"You're a brave man, washing a lady's clothes. I did it for my late wife, once, just once. I shrank her favorite dress and she never let me forget it."

"Ah." Spike considered. Without Buffy's clothes, he had two pairs of jeans, two teeshirts, and three pairs of socks. That hardly seemed a load, but then, what did he know. On the other hand- if he shrank the Slayer's work uniforms and her frilly bits- she'd probably do somethin' creative. Like microwave his head. "Maybe I'd better let her do that, an' I'll do my own."

"Good plan." Mr. Carlsby followed Spike down to the basement, wheezing and puffing slightly. "Elevator man comes tomorrow. Praise the Lord."

"Halle-bloody-lujah." Spike agreed. Down in the laundry room, there was a small television and two bored looking women folding and sorting.

"Kim. Trisha."

"Hi Ed."

"Ed, hey."

"This is William. Can we call you Will?"

"Hello, Ladies." Spike nodded curtly, and suddenly found himself the subject of smiles, blushes and giggles. Ed winked at him. "What are we watching?"

"_Passions_."

"Hm. Good?"

"Really interesting."

"I like it."

Spike nodded and stared at the washing machines in front of him. He hadn't done laundry in- years. That's what minions were for. He read the instructions printed under the lid. _Add soap in the desired amount..._ "Sod!"

His cry made the three other occupants of the room jump. "Sorry. Just realized I left my soap upstairs. I'm on the eleventh floor and I don't fancy a trip back up."

The two women practically fell over each other to offer him their detergents. "Thank you, Ducks." He smiled his most charming smile and earned himself another giggle. "Now could one of you beautiful ladies help me with a problem?"

"Of course."

"What is it?"

"How do you wash these?" He held out Buffy's clothes.

In seconds, the two middle-aged women were clucking over him and sorting for him and in general doing the work.

"You're a smooth one." Ed smiled and winked again.

"Aren't I just?" He purred conceitedly.

"Quite the ladies' man?"

Spike suddenly felt all the smug go right out of him. _Just one lady's man_. His whole unlife, just one lady. He used his charm, sure, but only because Dru liked her bad boy bad, a dark prince charming, a sexual beast, a prowling predator. Now he had none of that swagger. He was a cheap trade off, smiling and using those big blue eyes Dru loved to while old cows to help him sort the Slayer's laundry. Sweet Jesus, ashes indeed. "No. Not really." Spike said and moodily huddled into the cheap plastic chair.

Ed was puzzled, but he didn't say anything. He saw a lot of life and a lot of people. This fella had woman trouble. "It gets easier, Son." Ed patted his shoulder and wheezed out of the room.

Spike felt an unexpected stab of hope at the kind words and the friendly gesture. His two willing handmaids left him with explicit drying instructions and he was soon by himself. He turned his attention to the television, and tried to let his mind and his worries get carried away in the mindless drivel.

* * *

Carrying ten quarts of blood on a bus came under the heading of "Do Not Do", not if you wanted people to look past you, not at you. She was still reeling from the aftershocks of playing tough gal with the grabby delivery man. What if he told Kate? She could lose her job. What if there was some kind of meat police and since she didn't have the proper paperwork she had to pay a ridiculous fine? What if he called the police for assault? Okay, she could turn it right back on him but- she shuddered and clutched the cold box closer, she hadn't liked doing that, that physical interaction, feeling the anger and the righteous indignation. It was too close to what the "Slayer" felt and did.

On the other hand-the bus was much quicker. The bottom of the cardboard box seemed to be sagging as the blood defrosted and ice water soaked through. Ice water also dripped down her arms and onto her shoes as she walked. "Any minute I'm going to be walking home with the world's grossest bouquet." She shifted the box and noticed part of the bottom was now soft to the touch. She quickened her pace.

* * *

Spike was slipping into his fresh from the dryer clothes. By eleven flights up, the warmth had worn off, but- "Ooh. soft. Wonder what the old girls did to them?"

There was a hammering at the door. "Spiiiike!"

"Coming!" Spike raced to the door from the table where the clothes were spread out, where he was making an attempt at folding. "What the hell have you got?" He cried upon seeing her.

"Dinner." She shoved six partially melted bags of blood and several pieces of soaked cardboard into his arms.

"Well done!" Spike looked at his crimson bundle and hurried to the fridge.

"What the hell are you doing with my underwear?" Buffy squeaked and grabbed a pink pastel pair off of the back of his jeans.

"Hands off!" Spike turned, one hand protectively on his cheek.

"You had my panties- on your-" She waved a hand, towards the area below his waist, blushing furiously.

"Static electricity. I did the laundry."

"You what?"

"Laundry. Did the laundry." He mumbled.

"My clothes!" She dropped the remaining bags into his arms and rushed the table. "My uniforms, my jeans, my-hey, these are really soft."

"Aren't they?" Spike put the bags in the fridge and freezer. He noticed for the first time that there was nothing in it but a half empty milk jug. He was about to comment on that, but Buffy continued to ask about the clothes.

"Did you buy fabric softener? We don't have fabric softener."

"Some of the old ladies in the building lent a hand. I dunno know what I'm doing."

"That makes both of us today. Is the blood okay?"

"Seems to be." He sniffed at it. "Beef, but it's okay."

"You did a good job." She held her uniform up against her and found it hadn't shrunk.

"You, too." Spike held one of the bags, hungry enough that even this muddy flavored liquid would seem palatable.

Buffy stared at him, and he stared at her. Both clearly waiting for something. He waggled the bag at her meaningfully. It clicked. "Crap! Crap, crap, crap!" Buffy stomped her foot. "A mug! I meant to bring home one of the mugs."

"It's alright. I'll get one tonight." Spike soothed, and tried one of the plastic bowls instead of paper cups.

"I said I would do it."

"You brought home enough blood to keep me fed for half a week. That's enough doin' for one day. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing this week." She sank down into one of the rickety wooden chairs and began folding her clothes. "Freebie. From work."

"Where the hell do you work?" He realized he had an idea, but didn't actually know.

"K's Diner." Buffy replied automatically. Then fixed him with a deer in the headlight's expression. "Why?" _Oh great. Oh great, now he knows where you work, my God are you just terminally stupid? _

He stared at the blood bubbling in the microwave, trying to judge the exact moment when it would boil over. They had yet to master that. He really needed to clean the thing after three froth over incidents. "Oh. Just- you keep leavin' early, comin' in late. There's better ways to avoid me."

"It's a long walk."

_ "_No buses out that way?"

"Buses cost money." She folded a pair of socks with unneeded force.

He pounced on the off button just as the blood reached the rim. He smiled in triumph, before he gave himself a mental smack and reminded himself there was no need to be so proud. He should be deeply shamed. Nonetheless, he was hungry, and he was going to get fed without getting hauled into a police line up or having to flee the city- always a risk, never knew when your car could break down and roast you alive in the sun. She'd helped him.

He carefully lifted out the full bowl and set it on the counter, consciously keeping his voice nonchalant and looking away from her. "I could pick you up. If it's dark enough, mind."

"You said I was never setting foot in your car again." Buffy reminded him, jaw dropping.

He shrugged, still turned away. "That was before you were buying me dinner."

She was silent for so long that he finally turned, ready to rescind his offer. She had her sneakers off and he could see how badly worn down they'd become. Must have quite the long walk. _Oh well, the housing people put you where they put you, an' bugger your job. Hell, she really is impressive, even broken down. She just keeps fighting and doesn't even realize it. She's drowning and she won't stop treading water, even though she knows she can never reach land, she'll never be able to get out from the kind of memories she's carrying around._

Buffy considered his offer. "My feet really do hurt." She said to her socks.

He stared, biding his time, looking at her with the watchful eyes of a stalking cat. "The offer's out there."

_Why not? Truce, the Sequel_. "Thanks. Sometimes. If you want."

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Graie, Blade Redwind, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, and Lil-Leti. Also thank you to the guest reviewers. If you aren't getting review replies- make sure you're signed in and have your PM function on so I can respond!_

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part VIII**

The unspoken truce remained in tact. It helped that they still saw each other mainly for a few minutes morning and evening, so they didn't have to test the boundaries of the truce too much. Notes were still left many days, now on a spare order pad.

_Working until six tomorrow._

_ Pick you up._

* * *

_I need $28.00 for the blood guy._

Thirty dollars was laid on the pad with a note, _Keep the change._

* * *

Politeness seemed to give way to almost friendliness. Just sometimes.

"The girls in 14 B said their cat is missing." Buffy handed Spike the mail in the afternoon. They got none actually directed at them, only "Occupant" or "Current Resident" and various ads.

"Oh?" Spike said absently. They kept papers that had lots of blank space, for notes. He threw everything else out.

"You didn't eat it, did you?" Buffy asked worriedly.

"I don't eat cats. But Milton does."

"Who the heck is Milton?" Buffy reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of orange juice.

"Ed's dog."

"Ohhhh." She looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"Who's Ed?" Spike chuckled. "Mr. Carlsby, to you."

"Ohhh!" This time the noise of realization was genuine.

Spike nudged her aside, taking their second mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a snack. "Want me to give you a lift home tomorrow?"

"Is tomorrow Sunday?"

"Uhhh." He had to think. "Yes! There was no _Passions_ today, so that means it was Saturday, so tomorrow is Sunday. Why?"

"Kate gave me the day off."

"You get days off?"

"My first one ever."

"Well how 'bout that. What are you going to do?"

Buffy sipped her juice. _What do I do on a day off? Hang with Mom. Shop. Study with Willow, chill with Xander. Mall. Train with Giles. See Angel at the Bronze. Sorry, all those options are unavailable._ "Sleep." Buffy answered and headed out of the kitchen.

* * *

She was already awake and in the shower when Spike reentered the apartment on Sunday morning. He smiled ruefully. _Sleep indeed. Slayer was hardwired to be a workhorse. In fact_- he suddenly felt a flash of worry- _she'd go insane if she was cooped up in here all day. _She worked her body in an endless loop so her brain couldn't catch up, so she'd never think too much. He preferred to drink himself into that non-thinking state, but then again, he didn't have a lot of desire to expend energy unless it was violent. Or sexual. And that second was definitely not an option. He'd never even look at anyone besides Dru.

Which is why he was completely and utterly shocked and a little sickened when he realized the bathroom door hadn't closed fully, and he could see her reflection in the large square mirror over the sink- and that he didn't look away.

It was a steamy piece of glass, and she wouldn't see him in it, he didn't reflect. Not that he should look. He tried to back away. But curiosity was stronger. _She'll kill you if she catches you. Well- good. 'Cause I think you oughta die now. You've looked at another woman. The _Slayer,_ of all women. And- you think she's pretty. Pretty piece of flesh, and just simply sort of femininely pretty as well._

He silently pushed into his room and and leaned against the door, unconsciously holding it closed, a frown of confusion on his face, blinking her image out of his eyes, only it refused to go. Bare back, towel around her hips, and partway across her torso. In the mirror he could see her face, grim and set, like inner troubles were eating away at her. Delicate body, round and warm looking, with the curve of her shoulder and the globe of one breast.

He felt guilty, not just in respect to the idea that he'd been unfaithful to Dru with his eyes- but that he'd seen Buffy and she didn't know. _Poor thing. Sad, innocent thing. An' who gets an eyeful? Someone who hates her. One time with Soul Boy, an' now I see bits an' pieces best left unseen. Poor girl. Practically untouched. _He didn't have a thing for virgins, that was Angelus' territory, whores and virgins, he loved the extremes. He liked the woman, for herself. He didn't want to do something the woman he liked would object to.

_Oh God. I can't like her. Just that stupid little poet stuck in the vampire trying to make you feel guilty about something, make you feel something, anything. You hate her. You're going to show her. Be as nasty as you can- or keep the hell away from her._

* * *

He kept to his room for as long as he could stand it. He heard doors open and close, he heard the television turn on and go back off, and heard her shuffling around in her room and outside in the living room. He groaned and bit the pillow he'd finally bothered to buy. She was keeping him awake! Even when he tried to avoid her, not even in the same room, he could see her. Could hear her. Feel her. Had a sudden, very unwanted thought of feeling her, as in her body, not her presence. _Bloody hell. Don't do this to me._

It had been months alone, that was why his body was feeling lonely. He had respect for her, she'd grudgingly earned it. But he did not like her, did not want her. Just wanted a soft, female body, Dru's soft female body. Only Dru, always Dru!

Oh God, this was no good. He got up, grouchily and scowling and stormed past her as she sat looking at one of the free community newspapers that came in the mail.

"Hi!" She almost sounded eager, glad for the distraction, Spike expected.

He just grunted.

"Rough night?"

He shook his head and grabbed a bag out of the fridge, then grabbed more out of the freezer and shoved them in the fridge to thaw.

Buffy stared, watching him slamming around her. "Spike?"

"What?" He rounded on her furiously.

"Geez." She held her hands up, palms out. "Sorry."

"You should be!" He slammed his mug into the microwave so hard it chipped. He closed his eyes in frustration.

"What'd I do?" Buffy pouted without realizing it.

"You clomp around this place like a herd of elephants! What are you, a size six shoe? Sounds like you're about a size sixteen! Bangin' about an' never a thought for who might be sleepin'!" He ranted.

"I-"

"And check the bloody door of the bloody bath when you're in it! My room's right across the way, an' it's not my fault if it's not shut when I come home!" Spike gestured frantically down the hall, tone both irate and accusatory at once. "I mean- what's a bloke s'posed to do, he comes in, hard night, long night, gonna go to bed, what's he see? Door's open and- and don't you dare try to pin this on me!" Spike's mouth raved on while his brain screamed _What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing, she'd never have known, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you telling her about this?_

Buffy rose from her seat slowly and approached cautiously. "Is this what animal blood does to you? Makes you insane?" She asked, reaching a hand out, as if to check for fever. _He's dead. He doesn't have a temperature, Einstein._

"Get off." Spike batted at her hand as she dropped it anyway. "And don't you blame it on the blood, I'm not a peepin' tom, an' no blood ever turned a man into one!"

It clicked. Hot blushed suffused her cheeks. "Oh."

Spike tensed, waiting for screams, berating, a complete freaking meltdown. He waited in vain. That single words was all the crossed her lips. In the ensuing silence, he talked, babbled, more accurately. "Not that it was your fault. It's a shitty door, init? The frame has that bulge. Know what- I'll get a hook an' eye latch at the hardware store tonight. God, might as well open an' account, huh?" He laughed nervously.

Still nothing. Just staring straight down, face dark pink, eyes bright.

He made the ultimate, and completely unexpected (to him _and_ to her) sacrifice. "Sorry."

She gulped and nodded, then let out a wet sounding laugh. "Not like it's a big deal, right?"

"Didn't see anything." He lied, but it was a compassionate falsehood.

"You wouldn't have wigged if you didn't see anything." Buffy pointed out.

"I didn't see _much_." He amended.

"You ever- you ever just feel like life doesn't have anymore crap left? Then you get one more piece?"

"Most of the time I'm awake." _I thought it was going to be over by now, livin' with you this long. An' then oddly enough- I thought it was startin' to get better. _

"This is why I shouldn't have days off. If I stop moving, shit happens."

"If you move, shit happens too." He slid himself into a chair across from her, cup in hand.

"True." She sighed.

They looked at each other with darted glances, but mostly stared straight down, awkwardness cloaking what had just begun to be a somewhat at ease coexistence. "Let's forget it, alright?" Spike finally said boldly.

_Why isn't he being a jerk about it? Don't ask why, just be grateful, it's one nice thing he's done in a thousand bastard-like things. And remember the day you went in and he was asleep with his shirt off- and kinda half unzipped. I didn't see anything major. But I saw more than it's okay to see. _"Yeah, we can forget it. And I will totally be doing the lock-thing you mentioned. How do we do that?"

"I think we need a screwdriver. We have one in the toolkit."

"Cool."

"Yeah, cool." Spike felt relief. His conscience stopped pricking him. Which was bad. That his conscience was making itself heard over the demon- and that the conscience chose to make itself known now, in relation to the Slayer of all people. The Slayer- who was now giving him very shifty looks. "What?"

"What what?" She dropped the page she was turning with a guilty glance at him.

"What are you givin' me the fisheye for? An' _don't_ deny it." He warned.

"Remember the day I came in with the phonebook?" She said in a rush.

"The day you _attacked _me with the phonebook? Yeah, I remember that. Just got my ribs back in place." Spike quipped.

"You were asleep. I knocked and everything before I came in!" She told him insistently.

"Okay..." He had a bad feeling where this was going.

"You were-um asleep, so you were comfortable. Not all dressed."

"What, you saw William the Bloody's 'spike'?" He coughed around a mouthful of blood, too sure of his sexual allure to be bashful, too surprised that the Slayer hadn't come over all girly and left the room immediately when finding him not completely dressed.

"No, of course not. Exactly." She protested uncomfortably.

"Hell." He shook his head and closed his eyes. Of all the people to catch him semi-deshabille, it would be _this _person. Of course it would. Because Fate hated him, liked to laugh in his face.

"I'm sorry!"

"Oh, psht, not as if I care." Spike sipped his blood with put on brashness. "Liked what you saw, did you?" He muttered into his mug, smug eyes drifting to her.

Her hand came up and smacked the edge of his mug smartly, splashing red all over his face, up over his nose, down his chin. He choked, gasped, and tried to talk, which only led to a coughing fit.

"Don't ask stupid questions." Buffy gave him a tiny feline smile.

"You're cleanin' this up." He gestured to the splashes of blood all over the table and cheap linoleum flooring.

"Fine. You better go wash up." She pointed at the trails running down his neck. "Don't forget to lock the door."

He stalked off with a sigh, licking his wet fingertips. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

As he took off his shirt and scrubbed at his throat and mouth he looked at the empty mirror and told his invisible reflection, "Well, that's the first few hours down. What the heck are we gonna do until dark?"

* * *

Get on one another's nerves was the answer to Spike's question. The place was too small, and they'd never had the dubious luxury of "free time" when both of them were awake and in the same space.

"I don't want to watch baseball." Buffy reached out and turned off the television.

"Neither do I." He turned it back on.

"Then why-"

"Because we either watch baseball, which is on three channels for the next four hours, we watch the Sunday afternoon flick which is the Three Stooges hitting each other on the head an' pokin' each other in the eyes, or we watch the nun who paints an' also seems to suffer from short term memory loss."

Buffy's hands fell back in her lap. "We need cable."

"We can't afford cable."

"I know." She fidgeted. "How do you stand this?"

"I don't. I sleep."

"So why aren't you asleep?"

"Because I can feel you bein' antsy an' I can't settle." He snapped irritably. "Dammit, where's my Scotch?"

"You drank it after your shower."

"Oh. Right."

They resumed staring at the baseball game again, even though neither of them actually had any interest in it. They both kept checking the clock, eager for night to fall.

"Why are you lookin' at it? Not like _you_ can't go out. You're not the one with a severe case of flammability when exposed to sunlight." Spike groused.

"I don't like going out in this city."

"You grew up in this city." Spike pointed out.

She gave him a startled look. "How'd you-"

"I research your kind." He avoided calling her a slayer. "C'mon, you researched me, didn't you?"

"We did." _All of us. Back when there was an "us". _She gave him a look of grudging respect and mild disgust. "You had major anger issues."

"I don't repress. Ain't healthy." He grinned, lighting up. "So go. Toddle along. Go see the place, you must have somewhere you'd like to-" He trailed off, she was shaking her head vehemently.

"I don't go anywhere I used to go. I wouldn't have set foot in this neighborhood." She laughed wryly, leaning back in the chair.

"Not very swank, give you that. So go new places."

"No." Her answer was very soft.

"Any reason why?" He had to ask.

She thought. What was the best way to say it, with the least number of words? "Hurts."

Spike blew a series of perfect, oblong wisps. "You do seem to be in a fair amount of pain, all the damn time."

She nodded. Then, as if he wasn't even there, she started talking, explaining with her words and her hands, shaping the air around her, words coming out faster and faster the longer she spoke, as if finally letting go of a big boulder and watching it run down the hill.

"I came here because it was the closest big city and I knew exactly where to go if I wanted to be sure not to be found." She began. "And I never even thought about it. Thought about how often I would hear it, have to say it, see it, read, sometimes even write it..."

"Say what?" Spike leaned forward and clicked off the set. This program was much more fascinating.

"His name." Buffy looked into his eyes, but seemed to being seeing something behind them instead. "Angel. Angelus." Spike regarded her through a film of smoke. She could tell he wasn't getting it. "Think about it! Say it!" She cried. "Los Angeles. Shift the sounds around, like a lot of people do, and it sounds like Los Angel_us_." She shivered. "It's the City of Angels! Angel's City!" Her eyes suddenly went glossy and she rubbed at them with her knuckles.

"A thousand times a day, see it on the cover of the papers, the _Los Angeles Herald, _the_ Los Angeles Times_, see it on the police cars, Sheriff's Department of Los Angeles County. The housing authority people- I had to go to the South Central Los Angeles branch. Our coffee supplies at the diner? 'Los Angeles' Finest Grounds'. The meat guy? Drives a truck that says 'Los Angeles Meat and Meat Products Retail Wholesalers' on the side of it. I write down directions and addresses for tourists who come into the restaurant, I have chatty old ladies ask me if I'm new to Los Angeles or if I've lived in Los Angeles all my life!" Her face had crumpled into a twisted, heartbroken grimace. "Every time I hear it, it sounds like his name, like both their names, rolled into one." Her eyes overflowed with a few stray tears. "I feel like I'm stabbed in the heart a thousand times every single day. All I want is to forget how much it hurts, and how can I even start to? How can you stop thinking about the person you loved so much if his name is all around you?"

"Buffy..." He tried to calm her, more out of a sense of self-preservation than anything. Her crying made him feel a bit ill inside.

"No! No, listen to me, do you know where I'm living? Where I grew up? The City of Angels. My own Angel is dead! He's not even resting in heaven, I sent him to hell!" She was on her feet, hands clutched at her stomach, deep pained, twitches radiating through her body. "He's in HELL! He has a soul! Spike- he has a soul." Her face fell completely, tears running down it freely. "He should be in heaven, and I- I trapped him in hell. I don't even know if he's just- in oblivion, or if he's, if he's still suffering. Hell is eternal, right? He's stuck there. I can't get him out and he's trapped and it's because of me!"

He didn't know how it happened, how all the sudden he was wrapped around her tightly because she was convulsing, literally. Sobbing so hard she wasn't making sounds. At one point he thought she wasn't breathing. He hit her hard between the shoulder blades and she dropped to her knees. "Buffy! Buffy, c'mon!"

"You don't understand! What I did to him-"

"Had to be done! You have to understand, you couldn't separate the two, the evil and the good. An' if there's one thing I do know about Angel- it's that he's always tried to atone for what Angelus did."

"This is on the extreme end of atonement, don't you think?" She wiped her wet face on the edge of her shirt, and fell to her side. She was dimly aware of him hauling her up, of a cold hand smacking her hard across the face.

"Snap out of it!" He shook her harshly. "You're gonna make yourself sick!"

"I deserve to be sick! I deserve to die, you idiot!" She shook him off angrily.

"You really think that? You really think that your Angel would have told you to let the whole world burn instead of kill him- so you two could burn for eternity together? So he'd have all the guilt of knowin' not only did he screw up, but he screwed you up too, made you suffer in hell with him?" Her Angel would've been damned either way, didn't she know that? If she'd spared him for his soul's sake, hell still would have come to earth, and he's still be burning in it. He guessed guilt blinded her to being rational.

She sobbed in this time, swallowing tears and wet sticky stuff in the back of her throat that half-choked her. "I would have. I loved him."

"An' he was grateful for that, Buffy." Spike pushed her slightly damp hair back from her forehead and looked in her eyes, really looked at the girl for the first time, not the Slayer. "He had the love of a good woman. For a bad man gone good, that's the best gift ever. If you kissed him before you sent him off- then he went happy. If he knows you're safe- then he could be happy, even in hell. He loved you like that." _I know. 'Cause I can tell how much you love him. The way I love Dru. An' if Dru were safe, but I wasn't, well- that'd be enough for me._

She ached to believe him. Part of her did. Part of her shouted it was all lies, trying to boost herself up out of the mire of guilt and woe, and not to be fooled.

"How do you know? How do you understand what I'm going through? Drusilla's not with you, sure, but you're not living in a shrine to her memory."

He refrained from hurting her because his arms were full. Of her, actually, so his argument didn't make sense. Nonetheless, he sat her up and forced her head to flop forward enough to make her puffy red eyes meet his deep, injured sapphires.

"Listen, you. You live in a town that reminds you of your boy. I live in a_ body_ that reminds me of Dru. You had a few months, I had a few dozen years. Without her- I'm empty inside, I'm nothin', I'm not whole. An', no, that's not just me feeling sorry for myself, that's fact. You see his name every place, you hear it, you say it, you write it down. I live it. She _made _me." He clutched her arms tightly, fists wanting to clench but her slender arms in the away. "Every time I drink blood- it's 'cause of her. She made me, she's the reason I drink, that I feed, that a demon is in my body. Every time I pass a mirror an' see nothin' in it- I see her face behind my eyes. Every time the sun rises and I can't go out until it sets- I know that literally half of my life is at her mercy, her blood in me is why I'll never walk in daylight. When I hear heartbeats all around me, but hear nothin' in my own chest- I know its her love in me. Sacrificed my heart- literally- to join it with hers."

By that time his own eyes were overflowing. He'd thought he was making a bit of progress, keepin' his mind occupied, and all the sudden, the pain was back. "Damn it. Damn it! Damn you, Slayer." He rasped.

She slapped his shoulder hard for calling her the forbidden, if more familiar name. Then her hand kept going, around the back of his head, pulling it under her chin, and they sat on the floor, rocking together, trying to stop crying, and trying to stop feeling.

It didn't work.

They shared many of the same thoughts in those oddly prolonged, unguarded moments, as if through mingled pains they'd joined their minds as well.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For you, for me, for us, for them..._

_ Shhh. Shh, it's just wrong to see you cry. _

_ Wish you didn't hurt so bad. If you could just see what you are, that you don't need to feel this way..._

_ We really need to find something better to do the next time we have a day off together._

_ Shh. Shhhh. Don't cry. I don't know why I care, but I hate to see you cry..._

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Graie, Blade Redwind, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, Lil-Leti, Maire Ailbhe, MaryZaa, and Jewel74. Also thank you to the guest reviewers. If you aren't getting review replies- make sure you're signed in and have your PM function on so I can respond!_

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part IX**

They pulled apart gradually, and they didn't talk about what just happened. Relieved to get it out, then relieved it was done for the moment. Thoroughly exhausted, Spike and Buffy sat back in the chairs they had vacated and made noncommittal noises at each other.

"Hm?" Spike kept his eyes on the screen, but inclined his head to the side, waiting for an answer.

"Mm." Buffy nodded, eyes closing.

A few more minutes of drowsy, tense silence, and they spoke as one, "I'm gonna get some sleep."

It made them smile, briefly.

"Alright. See you." Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and headed the few steps to his room. Then turned on his heel abruptly, almost smacking into his roommate who had also risen.

"Whoa." Buffy rocked back on her heels.

"Sorry."

"My bad."

"I was gonna say- you plan to stay in here all night, then?"

"I guess." It felt weird. Being able to do nothing for so much of the time after weeks of exhausting herself and running life's treadmill. She felt thoughts spinning and churning, wanting to come back out like they had earlier. With nothing to do but think, she felt like her own mind was driving her insane.

"You'll go mad."

"It's a short trip." She shrugged with a half-sigh.

"Want to come to the hardware store with me when it's dark?"

Both of them were shocked by the offer.

_Avoid her! Wasn't that your plan? Oh shut up, your plans fail around her, with a startlingly high frequency. _

_ Willingly go to the store- to the hardware store, with Spike? Why? Why would he ask me, why would I even consider it? Maybe because it's better than sitting in here and listening to your brain melt and your heart break._ "Aren't you going to go out and 'hunt' up this week's money?" Buffy asked, buying time.

"I have to hit the liquor store. And uh-" He scratched the back of his neck, looking past her, "should I pick up anything else?"

"What else do you need? There's enough cigarettes in your room to give cancer to a football team." Buffy chuckled morosely.

"Fabric softener? It's what makes the clothes so soft. Trisha told me, you put half a cup in the rinse cycle."

"I guess we're making enough to pay for fluffy clothes. It's easier when you split the bills."

"Yeah. Yeah, the way you work your ass off at that place."

"The way you seem to find the ones with cash."

"We're hustlin' alright. Might even make enough to get the phone connected up." Spike pointed to the out of service phone that hung on the wall near the table.

"No. You know they need a name for that. A name that checks out." Electricity, hot water, and heat were included in the price of the rent, but phone, cable, anything additional, they'd need to supply real identification and proof of address and all other kinds of headache-y things. And a phone was completely unneeded. _You only need phones if you have people to call, or want people to call you._

"And who would we call anyway, right?" Spike finished her unspoken thoughts.

"Right." A very empty world confronted her. Work, pain, chores, pain, and Spike. Oddly enough, Spike seemed the most enjoyable thing in her life. Which just proved how bad it had gotten. "Wake me up when you get up and we'll go together."

"Will do."

They went to their separate rooms. Neither slept much.

* * *

A few days rolled by without much change. Buffy brought home some magazines for the next occasion "free time" reared its ugly head. Spike brought home _Soaps Weekly_, packs of smokes, and a steady supply of alcohol. The bathroom cabinet filled up with the usual odds and ends, two of everything.

A life spent together, with very little shared.

Part of it was their schedules, part of it was preference. Part of it was fear. Getting close a few days ago broke down such carefully kept walls, the only safe zone in grieving minds.

Better this way, they both decided.

Not really, Fate disagreed.

* * *

_ Blood guy won't come until Friday, Kate changed delivery dates. Will you be okay?_

_ I'll stop at the butchers tonight. Need anything?_

Buffy paused before heading out the door. Notes had begun to take the place of conversations some days, so they both made a habit of checking them. Need anything? Sure. So many things. Anything you can pick up at a store? She scribbled hastily on her way to work, _No. Nothing._

* * *

"No deal! Yankees are totally gonna win."

"Come September you'll eat those words!"

"September's weeks away!"

"Watch what you're doing! Tim, Pedro!" Kate shouted at her arguing line cooks.

Too late.

Buffy didn't even scream, she was just aware of the searing pain and then red sparks behind her eyes. She managed to gasp and jump back before the boiling grease got on her dress and legs. Her arm had not been so fortunate.

"Call 911!" Tim yelled, and put the skillet, now only half full, of hot fat back on the burner.

"NO!" Buffy found her voice as Kate and Pedro were yelling around her, shoving her arm under cold water, screaming back and forth. _No police, no ambulance, no one who might recognize me, in case they ever reported me missing._

"Those are second degree burns, maybe third!" Kate said sternly. She didn't really want to call 911, either. Anne wasn't legally on her payroll and wouldn't be covered under the restaurant's minimum requirement insurance. On the other hand- Anne wasn't her usual type of fly-by- night waitress. She seemed sort of sweet and shy, not mean or mouthy at all, good worker.

"I- I don't believe in using- um- owww." Buffy gave up trying to talk.

"You want your own doctor?"

"Uh- yes. I'll go see my own doctor, okay?" She winced again and looked at her arm. She wished she hadn't. "Where's my skin?" She felt faint. "Oh my God! Where's my skin?"

"It'll grow back." Pedro comforted and ran the cold water over her arm continuously. Kate had disappeared out the front, she was telling other waitresses to pick up Anne's tables. When she reappeared, she stuffed several twenties in the front of Anne's apron.

"You pay the doctor that, and if it's not enough, you tell me." Kate reached under the steel counter top and brought out a first aid kit. "Get her to the back bathroom."

"I can walk to my doctor's!" Buffy protested. "Seriously. I'm fine. Just fine."

"You're gonna go home, and not come back until the doctor says you can!" Kate and Pedro marched her away, her arm outstretched.

Buffy bit back a scream as the burn was exposed to the open air, and then literally hissed when they submerged it back under cold water again while Kate found a clean cloth dressing and medical tape.

"I'll call someone to take you to the doctor's."

"No, I can walk, it's not that far." Buffy shook her head.

"You can't go walking around with this bad of a burn. It's a grease burn and I've had plenty of those." Pedro insisted. "You need to get it cleaned and treated and you maybe need a couple days off so you can heal. You can't be in the kitchen with all that skin missing."

"I'm not losing my job because Tim doesn't look where he's going." Buffy's eyes flashed dangerously, her "Anne mask" falling momentarily.

"Honey, you're the best waitress I've had in years. You're not going nowhere but to the doctor's." Kate bit her lip. "Who can we call to take you?"

"No one." Buffy said firmly. "I- uh-"

"What about the guy in the black car?" Pedro suggested.

"What?" Buffy even forgot the immense pain to look at her colleague with threatening eyes.

Pedro looked at her and his boss nervously. "When I take out the trash sometimes, I see you walking down the street. To that old black car that waits down the block sometimes?"

"That's just my- roommate." Buffy struggled out of Kate's grip, banging her blistering, skinless arm into the sink. The world turned an interesting shade of black and pink right before she sat down hard on the toilet seat. "Hang on. I'll call him."

* * *

Spike snarled awake at the sudden persistent noise. "Slayer?" He shouted. He sat up, puzzled. Not dark yet. Did she lose her key? The banging came again, this time accompanied by a call of,

"Will? Will! It's Ed!"

"Oh shit, if she's late with the rent..." Spike dragged his jeans on and grabbed his shirt. He flung open the door. "Ed! What's wrong?"

"It's Anne. She called me and asked me to get you. She said something was wrong with your phone."

"Anne? Anne!" He shook his head to wake himself up. Anne was Buffy. "She called for me?" _Why? Why would she call me? Because I'm the only one around, that's why. _Alarms were going off in his head. If Buffy called the super, and sent the super to find him, something must be far wrong.

"She got hurt at work. She said they won't let her walk home and she doesn't want them to take her to a hospital, but you-" Mr. Carlsby found himself talking to empty air. His tenant had fled back into the bedroom, and reemerged, hopping on one foot as he forced his other into a boot, simultaneously trying to pull on a thick leather coat.

"What time is it?"

"About four, why?"

"Dammit." Spike ignored the question and ran past him. "Can you lock up for me?"

"Yeah! Hey, tell Anne-" But the man was gone, down the stairs, "I hope she feels better." Carlsby shook his head. "Should have used the elevator..."

* * *

Spike outran any elevator ever made, he jumped each flight in turn, and then ran through the hot August sun with his coat flung over his head. "She owes me for this." He growled and jerked the car into life. "Unless she's dead. She's not allowed to be dead." He gripped the wheel and put his foot to the floor.

* * *

"Where is she?" Spike parked in the alley because it was darkest. He burst into the back of the diner making all the kitchen staff jump and several waitresses scream.

"Who are you?" Tim demanded, thoroughly freaked. All that was missing was a sawed off shot gun and this guy could be a total psycho. He looked thoroughly unhinged and furious.

"Where's Anne?"

"I'm here!" Buffy called, emerging from the bathroom, where she had her dressed arm resting in cold compresses.

Spike's eyes widened. "What happened?" He pushed roughly past a busboy, and put his hand out to reach for her injured arm. Buffy drew it back.

"It's burned. A lot." She looked slightly frightened and really upset.

"I know how to treat burns." Spike gently took her arm above the elbow.

"I guess so." Buffy managed a pained smile.

"C'mon. Get you out of here. Gangway!" He shouted at the small ring of gawkers crowding them, scattering them like a flock of birds before a yowling cat.

"I'll be back by Friday! Okay? I might be back tomorrow, it's not that big of a deal, really-" Buffy was led out protesting over her shoulder, calling to Kate.

"Your job will be waiting, I cross my heart and swear on a stack of Bibles." Kate shooed her out. "Just get better."

Spike turned back at the door, Buffy pushed along before him. "Who did this?" He asked in a low, menacing tone. No one said anything, but he could smell the sudden stink of fear. He fixed a young man over the stove with a piercing glare. "You." He spoke to him directly. "You bloody careless-"

"C'mon, Tough Guy." Buffy groaned and tugged on his sleeve with enough force to send him through the door.

* * *

Pedro looked at Tim. "That is one scary dude."

Tim said nothing.

"That's Anne's boyfriend?"

"Has to be. Who else would come barging in here like the Terminator on a bad day?"

* * *

"You're not a doctor." Buffy refused to let Spike pull off the dressing.

"Do you want me to take you to one?" Spike asked. His adrenaline system was racing, making him snappish and intense.

"No!"

"Then shut the fuck up and gimme your arm!" He demanded.

"Could you either do first aid or drive, not both?" Buffy gasped as Spike clipped a stop sign.

"Almost home." Spike refused to relinquish his hold on either the girl or the wheel.

"I want to make it there in one piece!" She screeched. "I'm sorry they called you, but-"

"Of course they called me, who else would you bloody call?" Spike grunted and jerked the car into a dark parking space.

"Well, I know I woke you up, but you can take it easy on the psychotic act, okay?"

"That has nothing to do with it." He locked eyes with her for a split second before storming away.

Buffy began getting out of the car, carefully. It would be her right arm that was on fire, and she had to reach across gingerly to get the door open.

Spike was already pulling her out, a figure wrapped in black against the dimming light, hustling her inside.

In the elevator, he stopped trying to convince her to let him help and brashly reached over and yanked the dressing straight off- that and some skin. Her scream reverberated in the ancient metal car, and coincided with her good hand coming out and slamming him into the wall. "I had to see!" He gasped through a rapidly collapsing windpipe.

"Never do that again!" She howled.

"It has to get cleaned!"

"Warn me first!"

"You wouldn't have let me do it if I warned you!" He rubbed his neck and shook his head. " 'S what I get for bein' a soddin' medic." The lift juddered to a halt and he took her down the hall into their flat amidst a battle of hissing threats and insults. He plunked her down on the edge of the bath and turned on the flickering white overhead bulbs.

"Oh God. I'm gonna hurl." Buffy looked at her arm.

"No you're not. Ooh." He shook his head. That was bad. More than a second, less than a third. Blisters were forming, the skin was completely gone on about half of her forearm. "How bad was it when it happened?"

"What do you mean? It was this bad! It _just_ happened!"

"Slayer healing hould have begun- don't hit me!" He smacked her left hand down to her lap as it came at him when he used her former title.

"I don't have it anymore." She looked away, left fist clenched.

"The hell you don't. What are you doin' to yourself?"

"Nothing!"

"Buffy- you should have started to heal by now."

"No, this takes awhile."

"I had burns like this- thanks to a certain blonde- and I know they started to heal within a few hours and they were real bad. This is bad, but nothin' like gettin' caught in a buildin' fire." He sniffed at her. "You stink."

"Thanks a lot! My job isn't exactly a florist's!"

"I mean your blood." Spike looked in the medicine cabinet and sighed. "My roots are gonna show this week." He pulled her to her feet, and tugged her wrist out straight.

"No. No, no, no! Stinging! Stinging is of the mega painful and bad!" She jumped to the side when she saw the bottle of straight peroxide in his hand.

"I know, I know." He jammed his hips behind hers and corralled her to the sink. "Just bite down and it's over in a few minutes."

"I don't want to-"

"Argggggh!" Spike was the one who hollered, head thrown back in surprise. He dumped the entire bottle hastily up and down her arm, and released her. She released him as well, and they both fell, panting and exchanging accusatory glances, her from the edge of the tub, him from the floor.

"You said to bite down." Buffy gasped out.

"I should have been more specific." Spike looked at the deep red grooves on his forearm. "You have a little overbite."

"I know." She managed to smile.

He managed to laugh. "Hell."

"Am I gonna live, Doc?" She tried to rise, but her knees were weak.

"If you be a good little bint an' let me dress it. What can I use to make into bandages?"

"Won't bandaids work?"

"No. Cloth. And we need burn cream. I'll get some."

"I guess that white Hard Rock Cafe shirt." _Now I need a new shirt. And burn cream. And I'm missing at least a day of work, and- ooh, but I have money for a doctor. _Her conscience nipped her and she told it to shut up. She hadn't ruled out the need for a doctor yet. And Spike probably had treated more burns than most doctors anyway.

"I'll get it."

Spike returned with the shirt and tore it into ragged strips. "I'll wrap you up for now, and then get something for your arm and get proper bandages."

"Kate paid for whatever we need." Buffy reached into her apron pocket. "Here. Get your bleach, too."

"Thanks." Spike put her hand on his knee, straightening the arm in preparation to wrap it. This close to her, he inhaled her again. "It _is_ you. You do. You reek."

"I_ will _slap you!" Buffy gave him an indignant glare. "I just got hot grease that's probably been reused every day for a week dumped on me. Let me get a shower -oh, do I get a shower before being wrapped up, or after?"

"Best do it now. Don't use soap on it." Spike instructed. "And that's not what I meant."

"What do you mean, then?" Buffy undid her pony tail and attempted to reach around the back and get her buttons. It wasn't easy with one hand. "Spike, could you?" She jerked her head towards her back. She couldn't undo the buttons, so she was going to take off the whole thing over her head, and needed him to leave, but Spike misinterpreted the motion. His fingers were on her red plastic buttons before she could say a word.

"Your blood reeks. I wouldn't even bite you." Spike growled angrily, jerking buttons open, neck to waist. "You eat nothing but crap from that greasy spoon."

"Hey!" Buffy whirled to face him, partly for modesty and partly for glaring purposes. "At least I remember to eat! That's a big improvement from a few weeks ago!"

"Oh yeah? What've you eaten this week? Tell me." He sucked in his cheeks and crossed his arms imposingly.

_What was today? Ummmm._ "Pie. Peach, I think. Not that there were actual peaches in it, but-"

"Oh for God's sake. You can't heal if you don't have fuel! First rule of life, for the living, the undead, and all the rest. You're not gonna heal if you don't eat. No wonder you're back to ordinary human weakling status!"

"Don't you dare, Spike. Don't you dare mention it." She warned. Even half dressed and injured, her eyes were torch bright with untold threats.

He stormed out, stormed back, and threw a towel on the sink. "Shower. A cool one, don't let the burn heat up, keep it cool as you can. I'll be back." He left, and then came back once more, surprising her in mid de-bra-ing. He looked hastily and unwaveringly at the ceiling. "I was just gonna tell you to keep a clean strip over it 'til I get back, once you're dry. An' don't try to scrub it. Just- leave it be."

* * *

Buffy sat in an oversized plain white tee shirt with strips tied loosely over forearm as best she could one handed. Her hair was wet, she never wore make up anymore anyway, and now she was hurt. She didn't simply feel empty today. Now she felt empty and vulnerable. As much as she had shut down the Slayer part of her, she realized she'd counted on it. The speed, the strength, the lack of fear- all part of the package. She hadn't realized how much that "super power" relied on the human frame and the basic human needs to keep it in tact. She'd become detached from life. She thought that was good.

Right up until the point where she didn't like it anymore. "What's wrong with me?" She asked the silent television set, asked her graying image in the dull screen.

* * *

_What's wrong with me?_ Spike slammed the car door shut and juggled all his bags about so he only had to make one trip. He'd had to go to the actual "respectable" part of town so he could get everything in one trip. Without ever having the clear thought in his head, he'd realized he wouldn't be going out tonight.

_Why am I playin' nursemaid to her? Why'd I rush out today, almost get myself roasted just 'cause she got hurt? _

_ Because she'd look after you if the situation was reversed ._

_ So? She's good, I'm evil._

_ Actually- at this point, you're both just survivors. _

With an aggravated twitch at the truth of those words, he trundled into the elevator, arms full.

* * *

"Please tell me you didn't get the giant economy size tube of burn cream." Buffy watched Spike set down four bulging bags with a thud.

"Unless you want somethin' bad to happen to your other arm, can you please shut up?"

"Shutting." Buffy replied. She wordlessly watched Spike unload the bags with a series of thuds. Peroxide. Cream. Bandages. Tape. Gauze. Vodka. Gin. Scotch. Menthols. Roast rotisserie chicken. Apples. Milk. Orange juice. Peanut butter. Bread. Tabasco. Blood, two large bags.

"Okay, I can't help it." Buffy gave up her attempts not to piss him off, figuring she owed him that, he'd been really helpful today. "Why the people food?"

"To feed the person, Brainiac." Spike sighed. He sat down directly across from her, on his haunches, and grabbed her fingers roughly, extending her burnt arm. He lifted the strips and flinched. Still hadn't even begun to heal.

"I eat at work. Seriously! You get a free meal for every shift."

"So you get a chance to eat once a day. Do you _actually_ eat _every_ day?"

"Yes!" She flushed. Honestly, she didn't like to eat there. If you took a break, someone wanted to socialize. She avoided socializing like the plague. Even more than the plague. The plague could totally hang out with her, then people would really leave her alone. She usually ate when and if she remembered to bring something home. Which seldom happened.

"Well, then I hope your regular customers have excellent health insurance, because what you eat must have the nutritional content of cardboard. They're all gonna be turning up their toes if they live on that." His eyes skimmed hers. "Was that your plan, Pet? Malnutrition?"

"It's fine, Spike." Buffy ground out.

He held out the tube of cream. "You wanna do this bit yourself and I'll wrap you up?"

"Thanks." She squirted out a long stream of the ointment and dabbed it on painfully. Spike waited until it was coated enough, and began wrapping it in clean gauze and then bandage. "You're good at this." Buffy watched him move expertly around her injury.

"Dru taught me. We looked after each other." A painful twist of his insides reminded him what he was doing. _Oh bloody hell, you stupid fool. Thought this felt too familiar. Couldn't put my finger on why I was acting like this. But I can see it now. _His sneering, belittling voice lectured him. _It's 'cause you get to look after someone. Rode to the rescue, didn't you? Tended her wounds. Hunted for her- alright so you shopped, it's the human equivalent of hunting these days._ As soon as the bandage was tight enough to hold, but loose enough not to cause swelling, he dropped her hand and got off his knees.

"That'll hold overnight, I'll do it again in the morning. Food's on the table." He had planned to stay in, now he planned to run. No confusion. No thoughts of familiarity.

"Spike-"

Oh God, she was standing there, and that shirt barely reached the tops of her thighs. No bra. Wet, clean skin, wet, soft hair. Warmth came off her in waves, like it did with all humans if you were close enough to them. He could see far too much of her, shapes, and outlines, and things he didn't want to see. "What?" He said crossly.

"I was going to say thank you." Her face creased, and she backed away.

"Don't. Just- just go eat." _Get farther away. I don't like what I see, of course I don't. I just- bugger this. I don't mind her being close, and I mind _that.

The hostility in his voice bothered her more than it should. She guessed she'd fallen into the habit of thinking they were - she didn't know what exactly. No way friends. Enemies, yeah, in the right circumstances. But in this circumstance- friendly. Not friends. But acting close enough. When he snapped, she snapped back. "Why do you care if I eat?" She said bitterly.

"Because you-" _You're still scheduled to be my date for the duel to the death. When we're up to it. So you need to get up to it. So you to eat, you need to heal. You need to be a slayer, even if you won't act like one._ The words died on his lips, however. She had a challenge in her eyes, but it wasn't a challenge to him. It was to herself. Why should she keep on with this charade? For that matter, why should he?

_Because we won't let one another go. Not yet._

"Because you promised you wouldn't let _me _starve. Same deal for you, Sweetheart." He answered caustically.

The bitterness melted out of her. "Okay. I respect that." Her face got a bewildered look on it. "Never thought I'd hear myself say that to you."

"Never thought I'd hear you say it." His own hardened expression turned mildly amused. "Right then, eat up."

"I'll try." She waved at him as he headed to the front door.

"Jus' don't use all the hot sauce. An' put the blood in the fridge, would you?"

"Okay. What's the hot sauce for anyway?"

"For the blood. An' chicken wings." Spike stopped walking out, and gave her a worried look. Surely she'd heard of hot wings before? "You hit your head?"

She was giving him an equally curious look. "You eat chicken wings?"

"No!" Buffy denied.

"Of course!" Spike confirmed.

"No way! Vampires eat chicken?" Buffy shook her head. "Angel never -" She winced. Funny how his name slipped out sometimes.

"He was a purist. Blood only. In all the time I trooped around Europe with him an' Dru an' Darla, never saw one of them drink or eat anything but the red stuff. And alcohol." He added after a second's recollection.

"But you?"

"Break rules." Spike grinned devilishly. "Still doin' it." He winked at her. _Chose to go to my Dru, not merely taken by her. Stayed in love, even though they said demons can't. Hunt slayers when vamps usually run from 'em. Now? Livin' with humans, an' doin' deals with the Slayer._

"Yeah. You're a real bad ass. Eating chicken. Look out world." She stifled a laugh.

"It's all in the way you do it." He countered teasingly. She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. His coat came off and he strode over to the kitchen table. "Get plates."

"You're serious?"

"I call the wings."

"Then I get the legs!"

"One leg each."

"Then I get one wing."

"Who came rushin' out to save your ass?"

"Fine, you get both wings." She put two paper plates and their only two mugs down on the table.

"Thank you very much." Spike said with a little conceited purr in his tone, as he lifted the lid over the ready-to-eat meal.

"Another thing I never thought I'd hear you say." Buffy giggled and eased herself into the chair, and made sure to rest her burnt arm injured side up and out of the way.

"How about 'shut your face'?" Spike snarked and poured blood for himself, and milk for her.

"Ahhh. Now that's familiar. Good to be home." They grudgingly clinked glasses.

They smiled at each other briefly before sitting down to their first ever meal together.

* * *

It was midnight. He could hear her soft, even breathing. It was funny how something so quiet seemed so loud tonight. She was asleep. So he could go now.

_You're not her flippin' bodyguard. You can leave whenever you want. Right. Just as soon as I check her arm..._

* * *

Buffy woke with a gasp. A figure was over her bed. She sat up with a startled cry .

"Shhh! Sh, just me." Spike placated. "I was just- uh- gonna ask you if you mind if I watch the telly. Y' know, would it wake you up?" He fabricated quickly.

Buffy sat up further and eyed him skeptically. "I'm already woken up by you asking me if it would wake me up. You're gonna need a better excuse." She pointed out drily.

He groaned. He felt like such a prat. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. The arm?" Spike nodded to the injured limb, bandaged and propped up on a pillow.

"It doesn't hurt as bad." Buffy murmured tentatively. "You want to put the light on and -"

"I can see just fine like this." Spike lowered himself to the edge of the bed, deftly drawing her arm into his lap, and unwinding the cloth and gauze. "Look at that." He grinned in satisfaction. "Got some skin back already. Not so bright red, either. Derma's comin' back."

"You really know your stuff." Buffy admitted with a hint of admiration.

"I know burns. Occupational hazard." He rewrapped her arm almost tenderly. "I'm gonna go out."

"Okay. Have a good hunt." She yawned.

"I will. An' if I have a good haul, we'll go get some proper wings, huh?"

_Did he just offer to buy me buffalo wings?_ "You're on." _Did I just agree?_

_Well, Angel must be feelin' better, 'cause hell just froze over. Not only did I just offer to waste my hard earned dosh on feedin' her, but she said yes as well! _Spike patted her hand as he went to release her wrist, and then felt her lithe fingers pressing into his palm. A tiny squeeze. So why did it feel like she was wrapping her hands right inside of him, making him feel like he couldn't speak?

"Thanks for tonight. Helping me." She mumbled softly. "I know we're not big on that, but...uh, yeah. Thanks."

He nodded. _Too close. Too close, I can feel her. I can feel how soft she is, how strong she is, and how she misses bein' held. I miss it, too. More than her, I've had longer to get used to it. It'd be such a bloody relief to just- I can't hold her. Oh damn it. _Her breathing had quickened, her pert little breasts, bare under her shirt, were doing an impressive job of catching his eye as they rose and fell more rapidly.

"Be careful." Buffy let go of his hand hastily. _I should be careful. I'm practically holding hands with him!_ He was staring right through her. He made her feel things, think things. Not romantic things, God no, but feeling _anything_ after so much carefully created numbness, being close to anyone after so much isolation- it was just like a physical need and it freaked her out. She must never have that need, ever again.

_Careful indeed._ "I will. Be home at sunrise. You rest, Luv." He leaned forward, as if to brush a kiss on her forehead, stopping himself with a clumsy gesture of putting an imaginary hair back in place.

He scooted away, and bolted from the flat. _What the hell was that?_

_ Loneliness. Fear. Injury. Comfort. You name it, you two probably have it. But none of it's real, just a simple craving. Like your cigs. You don't really need 'em, just think you want the release they give you. Same with Slayer. When you're not with her, you can clear your head. You can think. You can remember who you belong to, who made you, who you need to prove yourself to. All you need to do is find a little distance. _

He didn't take the car that night, he ran on foot, running hard and fast and far. Looking for some point when he'd feel far enough away, and stop wishing he was still perched, warm and close to someone, on the edge of a comforting bed.

* * *

Buffy, restlessly shifting about in her bed, careful not to put pressure on her right side, was having similar thoughts. She needed that carefully maintained "roommates and nothing more" relationship back in place, a note there, five minute conversations here. No more, no less. Some space, that's all. That being _around_ sometimes, but rarely being _together._

* * *

Which is when both of them had the same realization, one lying awake, one tracking his current mark.

_We're going to have to spend the whole day together tomorrow. _

_ We're so screwed._

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Graie, Blade Redwind, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, Lil-Leti, Seapea, Maire Ailbhe, MaryZaa, Jewel74 and Lyzzybelle. _

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part X**

_I really should've taken the car. _Spike fled into the sewers as sirens sounded and strobes lights flashed on the street behind him. He looked at his full arms and used his chin to balance his teetering load._ Or at least a few shopping bags._

* * *

Buffy woke up at the sound of colorful exclamations and thuds. Momentary alarm left her and she smiled faintly._ Ahh. Life with Spike. Predictably unpredictable. _ A frown quickly replaced her brief look of contentment. _Whoa. Back up. No happy thoughts about your jerky, undead, blood drinking roomie. That way lies really stupid badness. _

Buffy sat up and grabbed a pair of faded sweats and pulled them on over her thin but still muscular legs. She noticed the wrappings on her arm were sagging from being pulled about in her sleep. Her arm hadn't even hurt.

Spike really knew what he was doing, she recognized with a flash of gratitude. She dared to peek underneath and saw the blistering was gone, and the skin had a glazed, pink look to it. It was not healed, but it was healing. She felt brave enough to attempt getting a bra and shirt on, something that had been tricky last night.

Once dressed, she dared to enter Spike's noisy arena.

* * *

"Stay up! Stay on, you flimsy thing!" Spike set a small black box on top of the television and it immediately began to slip off.

"Whoa." Buffy looked around the room. "What'd you do, rob a bank?" Buffy spread her arms wide and looked around the apartment in surprise and dismay.

"No, an Electronics Mart on the ritzy side." He grunted and caught the errant VCR for the third time. "Sodding thing!"

"One of us cracked the legs, remember? It tilts." Buffy looked around and grabbed a cardboard box, flattened it, and shoved it under the rocking leg of the television stand. "There."

"Cheers." Spike put his hands on his hips and nodded. "Now we just have to figure out how to hook it in."

"Where's the manual- where's my _brain_?" Buffy smacked her forehead. "You rob stores now? What the heck is going on?"

He sidestepped the question. "Why aren't you in bed? It's not even six."

"I heard grunting and cursing and figured you were home." Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Oh. Sorry. How's the arm?"

"Good. Look!" Buffy beamed for a second and held it out. "No owchies, either."

"Well, thank God for that, I hear owchies are the leadin' cause of death in waitresses." Spike deadpanned, but examined the arm. "See what actual nutrients will do to replenish a person? Go eat breakfast."

"As soon as you explain why we've got stolen merchandise in the living room." Buffy remained unbudging.

He turned away, scanning the floor, scanning for a directions sheet. "You were gonna be off all day, an' I can't go out in this light unless I want to roam the sewers- which I don't, I keep findin' demon nests, and I'd prefer if the demon and vamp population thought I'd left the area. I only use the sewers for travel, not for an all day resort." He found the page he was looking for and bent over the television.

"I'm with you on staying out of the sewer." Buffy wrinkled her nose. "But how does that equal a VCR? And a- stereo? A CD player? CDs, videos, whiskey?" She blinked at the array on the floor. "Never mind the whiskey, I get the whiskey." Buffy's stare burned holes into the back of his head.

"You bitch about my soaps."

"You sleep most of the day."

"I'm watching_ Passions_, I don't care if you don't like it."

"I don't care if you watch _Passions_, so why do you have to tape it?"

"No!" He slapped the directions closed and faced her in exasperation. "Last time you had the day off we went stir crazy, I didn't get any sleep, and we cried all over each other!" _Hell. Meant to leave off that last bit... _"So the electronic goodies are meant to distract us, alright?"

"We can't use- _I_ can't use stolen stuff, okay? I mean, the money for rent, for you- I get it. But just so I can see-" She picked up a few movies, "_Jurassic Park, Pulp Fiction, Silence of the Lamb, _and_ Babe_? Babe_?_"

"I grabbed the first armful off the rack, didn't really have a lot of time to browse, what with the sirens, and the alarms and all." Spike would have blushed if he could have.

"But-"

He gripped her shoulders suddenly, snarling inches from her face. "Do you want to sit here all day with nothin' to do but talk to one another, or do you want to keep your mouth shut and watch a few movies?"

She backed out of his grip, and he dropped his hands quickly.

_Distance._

_ Space._ Buffy nodded mutely and walked to the stereo player. "Good plan. Could- could we go back to the store sometime and leave money on the counter or something?" She asked hesitantly.

"The money I _steal_? You want me to steal a few hundred extra for the electronics I _already_ stole?"

"That wouldn't make sense, would it?" Buffy tore open the box, wincing when she brushed the rough cardboard over her bandaged skin.

"It's a miracle, we have contact!" He gave her a grouchy look over his shoulder.

Buffy threw an Aerosmith cd at his head and turned back to the stereo.

* * *

The non specified plan not to speak to one another went rapidly by the wayside- but it was nice for both of them to think they were keeping their distance. It wasn't deep conversation, just the few little "acceptable conversations" they'd allowed themselves recently.

"Buffy- it keeps flashing twelve."

"You have to set it."

"I did and it still flashes twelve!"

"Lemme see the manual-" She snatched it, "did you hit menu reset?"

"But I'm not resettin' it, I'm settin' it for the first time."

"Welcome to modern technology, Dead Guy."

Spike pushed reset and the numbers flickered to read 7:10 AM. "Not bad."

* * *

"Here." Buffy was waiting for him, arm outstretched when he came out from his room after a shower.

"Oh, right, clean and cream time." Spike ran a towel over his head and flung it back over the sheetless bed.

"No. I mean, yeah, but- here."

Her hand was outstretched because it had a mug in it. "Breakfast. Well, dinner for you I guess."

"Mmm, you got it just right. Not boiling, but hot. Just needs hot sauce."

"Ick."

* * *

"Ick! Ewww! Oh my God, Spike- push fast forward, push fast forward!" Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and looked away from the screen, knees instinctively huddling up under her rear as the gory images flashed across the television.

"Why are you squeamish? You've seen more blood than that, you're the bleedin' Slay-"

"Say it and I'll make creepy guy look like Dear Abby." Buffy warned.

"That does it. I'm puttin' in _Babe_."

* * *

"I don't think I can ever eat bacon again." Buffy wiped her eyes as the final credits rolled.

"Oh God..."

"Right, you weren't moved, you can't feel anything."

"Hey! When the little pig asked the sheepdog mum if he could call her mom- I felt somethin'!"

"I love this movie."

"I don't. But it wasn't too bad. At least you didn't curl into a little screamin' ball this time." Spike yawned. "C'mon. Let's get your arm done, then I'm kippin'."

"Fine with me. I need a nap." Buffy stretched.

It was almost- nice, Spike considered. This little bag of bones, take away the self-righteous, "You are Evil and Must Die" attitude, wasn't too bad. And fairly competent at all sorts of things, including staying out of a man's way- or being in it just enough that it was pleasant. Like now, when they stood the bathroom together, over the sink, her much smaller, warmer arm slipping through his hands as he washed it with cool water and soap, since it was healed enough to skip the peroxide treatment, how she winced but didn't say anything about the pain. He liked that. Always had a thing for the hidden strength types.

_No... you just like the fact that you're not alone, you prat. Don't get confused. Don't think things like that._ He spun the bandage quickly around her arm and then nodded jerkily. "That'll do you until tonight. Just keep eatin', okay?"

"Right." How was she supposed to eat when the part of her brain that sensed hunger had been permanently crippled by the weight of depression? How, when her stomach was probably the size of a quarter because her lead-weight heart had smashed it flat? "I- uh- I'll go out after I get a couple hours of sleep. I'll pick up something. You want me to get you buffalo wings?"

_Say no. Say you'll go out on your own later, you'll pick 'em up yourself._ "Why don't I come with you an' we'll get wings and groceries?"

_Say no. Say you'll go out now. You can nap later, you're not really that tired!_ "I can pay for my own groceries."

"Then I can pay for my own wings."

But no one mentioned going separately.

* * *

"I hate these lights. Make me look dead." Spike glared at the fluorescents lining the grocery store's ceiling.

"Well..." Buffy trailed off, finding no need to state the obvious.

"You know what I mean. Extra pale. That's only good when it's ale, and not very much at that."

"Stop putting all those bottles in the cart!" Buffy hissed and smacked his hand as he put a fourth bottle down. "Geez! I'm not paying for that."

"I'll pay for the liquids." Spike said easily and put three more in.

"What are you doing? Seven bottles!"

"I'm down to one a day." He grinned. "That's nothin' for a va-" noting they were in a semi-busy shop he changed his wording, "-ery alcohol tolerant type."

"If you say so." She blushed. "People are going to think we have a drinking problem!"

"We'll tell 'em we're havin' a party."

It all flowed so easily, back and forth. They heard the words and temporarily pretended they didn't hear the implications. The "we"s and the idea of "them" throwing a party, or "them" splitting the bills. _We're just roommates. Not so unusual for roommates to occasionally shop together, is it?_

_So why do you feel so uncomfortable? Is it because you turned into friends? Is it because you're relaxing around your deadliest enemy enough to become friendly, and you're afraid how much friendlier you could become?_

The two exchanged sideways looks and walked a few aisles in silence, both of them occasionally putting an item in the cart.

"What's your favorite food?" Spike asked suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Food. Your favorite one?" He clarified in a slow, patronizing tone.

"Uhhh. Pizza."

"Alright, frozen section."

"Whoa. I don't need all this." Buffy protested as she looked at all the stuff she'd put in the cart. It was an old routine, but she hadn't been aware of herself doing it. Things just automatically had made their way into the basket, microwave popcorn, pop-tarts, bananas, more peanut butter, bread, ham, cheese. "What am I doing?" She rubbed at her eyes. "This is more than enough." _I usually clear rent with ten or fifteen left over. Well- at the old place. I guess when we split it- wow. _Buffy reached into her purse and looked in her wallet. She'd gotten so used to having nothing inside it she barely checked anymore.

"You're buyin' stuff for a week, okay? Not this day-to-day rubbish. You make sure I always have a week's worth in the fridge and freezer, time for you to do the same." He lowered his voice and spoke insistently in her ear. "Think, Buffy. Think who I am, an' what I've done. Shouldn't you at least look after yourself as good as you look after someone like me?"

_What he's done..._ Images of Angel tied to Drusilla in that healing ritual in the church, images of the frightened faces at the Sunset Club, and how Spike ordered them all freed so he could save Drusilla's life. Fights, stalkings, dead people... And he'd begged her for help. Why? Because he wanted Dru back. Even after she betrayed him, he loved her enough to forgive her and swallow his pride to try to save her life, again, and again, and again.

_What have I done?_ More images, moving faster, pinpointing down to a few moments, a first kiss, a first touch, the way he came out of nowhere to watch her back, the way he said she was the beautiful one, the one he wanted, no matter what. Then Angel became Angelus. He betrayed her, turned her world upside down, changed everything she knew about love and innocence and trust. She hunted him. She watched him return. She kissed him. She killed him.

_He'd do anything to keep his lover alive. I did everything I could to make sure mine stayed dead._

"Easy!" Spike caught her as her knees suddenly buckled and her eyes became momentarily unfocused. "Slayer- Buffy."

"You know what?" Buffy shook her head and inhaled. She turned to look at him, deep, penetrating eyes in such a young face. "Sometimes I think I'd rather be someone like you."

She left him standing in the middle of the aisle, nonplussed.

* * *

He couldn't make her put one more item in the cart, but she argued, very eloquently, (Keep talking and your cigarettes are coming to work with me tomorrow, Spike) that she had plenty, and if rent was light on her end, it'd be up to him to find the difference.

He didn't bother telling her that he would have done that anyway. It sounded far too soft and thoroughly improbable, but he knew it was true. He'd claim it was for his own self-preservation, and tell her he wanted to be paid back. The point was, he'd do it.

At the checkout counter they had a brief moment where they argued over the division of cost, pooled their money, recounted and finally left, barely on speaking terms. They sighed in relief. Taciturn silence could rule, fine by them.

Until- "Wing Joint." Spike pulled in the parking lot. "Boneless or boned?"

"Boneless." Buffy replied automatically.

"How hot?"

"Uh- medium?"

"Wussy." Spike was out of the car before she could hand him any money.

"Spike!" She hollered out the window, digging through her wallet.

"Stay there! I'm gettin' 'em to go!"

"Don't tell me what to do." She muttered sullenly. But she sat.

* * *

"You did _not _tell me these were so good!" Buffy licked her fingers and Spike handed her another wet napkin. The groceries were put away, and they were sitting at the table, elbow deep in bones and orange sauce.

"Yours are piss poor. You oughta try the Habanero Kamikaze." Spike offered her one of his wings.

Buffy bit into it, and felt her sinuses flare open and her eyes stream. "I'm going to kill you!" She choked out and drank her entire glass of water. "Not working!"

"Here, water makes it worse!" Spike handed her his whiskey and she pushed it away angrily. "Oh for goodness sake." He hurried to get something else. "Orange juice or milk?"

"Aghhh." Buffy made a pained noise.

"Milk it is." Spike handed her the quart bottle and she chugged straight from it. In fact she chugged all of it. "Damn, woman." He laughed, impressed.

"Oh good. I can breathe again." Buffy gasped and sat back in her chair.

"Mmhmm. Now wait..."

Buffy looked at him quizzically. "Wait for- ooh. Ooh. That's- that's really nice. Kinda warm and tingly in your tummy."

"Yes, that's just how I put it." Spike rolled his eyes. "It's called after burn, Cutie."

"Mm." Buffy nodded. That was her last wing. His, too. It was the first time she actually enjoyed eating in months. Like her tastebuds were awake- and her mind wasn't suppressing them.

He leaned back, belched, got kicked for it, then shoved all their trash in the bin. "Y'know..."

"What?" She asked, half-eagerly, half-suspiciously.

"They don't close until midnight."

"And there's that gas station with the mini mart next to it. I'm out of milk now."

"Get your handbag!"

"Okay!"

They ran from the flat, giggling. Spontaneity, the good kind, had finally wormed its way back into their very monotonous, survival-mode lives.

* * *

"No, no, see-" Spike swallowed his beer hastily, "the secret is to use butter, not margarine, in the sauce. Coats better when you deep fry. Dip first, then fry, then dip."

"Don't mention deep frying." Buffy glared playfully, and lifted her burnt arm. "How do you know so much about it?"

"I lived in New York in the seventies. For a bit. Near one of the first places to serve 'em."

"You must have lived a lot of places." Buffy said after a second's pause.

"Been to every continent but Antarctica."

"Guess you can do that if you live a long time."

"You can do a lot of things." He drained his beer. "You can do a lot of nothin' too."

"But sometimes the nothing is the best! Like- like watching the Spanish Channel late night movies and making up your own story 'cause you don't speak Spanish. O-or- going to the mall and trying on all the hats and the really high heels your mom would never in a gazillion years let you out of the house wearing, and going into the library and putting the index cards in the wrong order so Giles gets all huffy and makes this clicking noise-" The words died out as suddenly as they'd burst forth. "Way to ramble, huh?" Buffy sipped her coke blushing. All the nothing in her life now- so miserable. All the nothing she'd used to have, the pointless, stupid, fun things- it was missed more than she'd realized.

"You miss 'em." Spike shrugged. He'd already had his turn at rambling earlier. Over the second basket of wings they'd gone into a list of every weird thing he'd ever eaten and all her failures at cooking. This was their fourth basket, and it must be her go to let out whatever bits and bobs were in her mind.

"I do. Sometimes." _Like when I think._

"But you know they're all okay."

"I don't know that." She swallowed. "Giles-" Her eyes finished her sentence.

"Hey. I was in there. Angelus didn't finish anything. Between us, we got your Watcher out safe. He's fine."

Buffy replied hollowly "I don't know. I saw him from across the street the day I left. He was standing." Her eyes misted. They'd all been there. Except her mom. Willow in a wheelchair. What if the head injury had messed up her brain functions or something? What if she'd never walk again? Because of her?

"Well, if he was standing-"

"He had his arm in a sling. What if- what if he can't write anymore? Or fence, or use a crossbow?" _And I'm not there to protect him... But he's probably safer without me there to make him a target. They're all safer there without me to make them the pawns in some stupid game about vampires and one freaked out girl with a pointy piece of wood._ "I think about them every day. But Giles the most. Because of-" She dragged her arm across her eyes, making her almost fully healed burn sting slightly and mussing her hair, "-Ms. Calendar and because he was actually- taken. And- hurt." She swallowed hard. She was voicing fears that circled in her head every day and every night, and somehow, like pennies in one of those circular donation bins, they had finally rolled around until they reached an opening and came out. When she spoke, she wasn't talking to him as much as reasoning with herself. "I can't find out. I mean, I could call, I don't have to go back there, but if I call... If we talk..." She shut down with a cough.

" 'Scuse me."

Spike watched her bolt to the ladies' room. God. Poor thing. At least he didn't worry about Dru. Dru at full health and strength was a match for an army. But the Watcher was just a man, and he had been tortured by Angelus. Angelus wasn't known for restraint. He wondered if the bloke still _had_ both hands, but he hadn't wanted to voice _that_ thought.

Hmm. Spike eyed the pay phone in the back of the bar section. "Hold my table, alright?" He muttered to their waitress and pushed through the crowded bar, to the pay phone, keeping one eye posted on the door Buffy'd gone through.

He inserted coins and pushed zero.

"City and state, please."

"Sunnydale, California."

"What listing please?"

"Willy's."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Willy's!" Spike shouted. Oh hell. Half of the patrons at the bar were now looking at him funny.

"One moment, please."

"Hurry up, hurry up..." Spike muttered impatiently.

"Business or residential?"

"Business. Willy's. W-i-l-l-y- apostrophe- s."

"One moment, please."

This time there was a ringing on the other end. There was a clunk, some shouting, and then, "Willy's Bar!"

"Willy. You'll never guess who this is." Spike lit up a cigarette and smirked smugly into the phone. He felt closer to being "himself" at that moment than he had in months.

"S-Spike?"

"You remember my voice, how sweet..." He oozed in a sinister tone.

"Uh- yeah, you back in town?"

"No, just had a quick little question to ask you. To do with the Slayer."

"Oh, you didn't hear then. She ran off! Her Watcher's in here every week, beatin' up snitches, bribin' people, chasin' down leads."

"He is, is he? Old man's handy with his fists?"

"Like a tweedy prizefighter. Damn, if he would just go the senior middleweight class, we could-"

"That's highly unlikely, though isn't it?" Spike cut him off.

"I guess, yeah. Anyway, however he does it, he wants news about her. Top dollar, five grand for a lead that helps him find her, that's what he told me."

"Really now?" Spike's mind went spiraling through a list of possibilities. Five grand. That money'd help him get set up anywhere in the states for a start. To get on his own. Get far away from Sunnyhell, far away from the Slayer. He could always hunt her down later. Or prove to Dru he had nothing to do with her. With so much clear proof of his disinterest in her, he could lure his raven-haired goddess back when he was king of New York, maybe, or New Orleans. And it was silly, the way the Slayer tortured herself. No, not silly, not about Angel, but about the rest. They'd obviously been wanting her to come home. She'd be better looked after, she'd be happier really, she might even-

Willy's voice penetrated his thoughts. "-told him that I'd let him know. Oh, yeah, an' there was some panic demon, got a cousin who's a chaos demon, in here awhile ago. He says he heard you and Drusilla-"

Spike dropped the receiver with a sudden sick twist of his insides. _What the hell was I thinking? No one needs to find us. Either of us. Not with people out there just waiting to put it in your face what you used to have. Might not mean to, might mean to indeed. Doesn't matter. No one needs that much pain waiting to slam into you without warning..._

* * *

Buffy emerged. She'd calmed herself down into a state of numbness again. When she got back to the table, Spike was standing by it, the picture of impatience. Smoking, jiggling slightly, whole body appearing to vibrate with nervous energy. "You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, you?"

"Too much of the hot stuff." He lied. "Ready to get the milk an' walk back?"

"Sure."

The walk was fast and silent. Unlike one of their earlier jaunts, they no longer kept as far apart as possible while still being able to hear one another. Now they said nothing but walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder. It wasn't until they were in the flat they spoke, her putting away the milk, him switching on the lights, taking off his coat.

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

"Take care of your arm for you?"

"Thanks. I'm going back to work tomorrow."

"I know. Good for you."

"I'm going to get changed before getting mummified." Buffy began unwrapping the current dressing. "And shampoo my hair. I smell like hot sauce." Buffy wrinkled her nose.

"Smells good on you." He hadn't meant to tease, to be playful, but it slipped out. Fortunately, she simply smiled.

In a few minutes, she had disappeared into her bedroom, presumably to change before getting her arm seen to, so she wouldn't have to drag clothes up and down over it and mar the wrapping job.

He waited and looked around distractedly. Clean bandages, gauze- burn cream? "Buffy? Have you got the burn cream?"

"Nuh-uh. It was on the sink in there." She called back.

"It's not now!"

"I don't know what- oh, I got it!"

He groaned softly, looking heavenward, and walked to her door as she opened it. "I picked it up with my clothes." She sheepishly explained.

"No worries." He paused. Normally he'd tell her to wash the arm off, but she'd just bathed. "Let's wrap you up, then." Instead of walking to the bathroom, she nodded, sat on the edge of the bed, arm stuck out. "Who's a brave little soldier?" Spike teased.

"I better get a sticker for this." She teased back. "It looks gross- but better gross."

"I bet by tomorrow it'll be a bit raw, but perfectly unnoticeable." He watched her fingers rub in the ointment, barely touching the skin. "Still hurt?"

"Only if you press on it hard. Bump it. Unexpectedly or something."

"Unexpected pains are the worst ones." A muscle in his ivory jaw jumped.

"Mmhmm. Or the same old ones, that just keep coming back."

Somehow they'd shifted from the physical to mental pains, and both of them understood it. Spike tucked the last fold over and went to rise.

Her eyes were like anchors. He couldn't move. Not when she was looking like that. Sort of vaguely pained. It wasn't the vagueness, that bothered him, or made him curious. It was the fact that he knew for any pain to show through, there must be layers and layers underneath to finally push some to the surface. The opposite of him. He had such expressive eyes, Dru always said his soul wasn't gone, just trapped in his eyes. How much pain did it take for him to replace the expressiveness with his now habitually hardened eyes, an uncaring veneer always locked in place? As much pain as it took to break her shell, that's how much it took to make him put his shield up.

So similar sometimes, but in opposite ways.

_Opposites attract_, a nagging little voice reminded him.

Buffy knew something was wrong. He never looked at her for that long. Certainly not her face, never without saying something. _I shouldn't have said anything about pains. He hurts just as bad. I mean, he has to be. Look at his face. Like marble. Holding everything in. That's my "every second I'm awake face" and I know what it takes to get that mask._ "I didn't mean to bring it up." She whispered.

"You don't have to bring it up. It's always there. It never goes away." He laughed mirthlessly.

"Yeah." She shivered suddenly and put her arms around herself protectively. "You can forget about if you get distracted, but it's always there, or always waiting to come back out."

"Never stop thinking about them."

"Wondering why."

"What you could do differently."

"What you shouldn't have done at all."

They managed to smile, and both faces, just for a second, were honest, no veneers, no put ons. "Sad, but fighting through it" expressions. It felt good to be fighting something again, even their own demons.

"Well." Spike sniffed in in a decisive way, and put his hands down on his denim covered knees with a slapping sound that was out of place in the cozy murmuring atmosphere. "Here's one pain reliever for you, Buffy. Your pet librarian is fine. Throwin' scares into the demon population, too."

Buffy was thunderstruck, gaping. "What?"

"Giles. I know you couldn't call, but I -" he ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair with an air of uncomfortableness, "I thought I'd just call a reliable informant in your old stomping grounds."

"You- what?" Her face had drained of color. She gave Spike's pallor a run for its money. Down to her quivering lips, she was white with rage and fear. "You called _Sunnydale_ to ask about _Giles_ for _me_?"

"I didn't mention you. I swear. No on will ever find you, not based on my three minute call to Willy's. I said I had a question and the first thing out of Willy's mouth is that the Slayer's run off. And your Watcher-" Spike chose his words carefully but quickly enough not to make her know he was leaving out pertinent details, enough to make her know she was wanted at home, without making her feel guilt, well, more guilt, "he's apparently looking for information. Beating up demons to get it, and he's good enough Willy mentioned the possibility of the old man taking on a second career in the middleweight division."

Buffy's face was now less lily and more orchid colored. "How did you find all that out?" She asked, deep breaths in through her nose accompanying her words.

"Didn't have to do a thing. Called Willy, Willy loves to gossip. He knows I have a thing for - what you were. So he told me relevant bits about you."

The color was back to normal, the breathing soon followed. "He's okay. He's okay!"

"Seems so." Spike nodded.

"He's beating up demons for information? He's doing my job." Buffy suddenly looked worried.

"He's doing what he wants to do." Spike quickly interjected. "An' must be doin' it damn well if Willy's considerin' his future in boxing."

_He's strong enough to fight. He's fine. He's better than fine, he's a fighter. I don't want him to have to fight. I don't want me to have to fight either. Sometimes we take turns doing the hard parts. What if he gets hurt?_

_ Like your being there would protect him? You saw how effective that was. He lived his whole life without you around- and in a year and half you let him get concussed, attacked by vampires, part-stealing monsters, nightmare creatures, and yay- even more vampires! Your boyfriend killed his girlfriend, kidnapped him, and tortured him. He's at risk with or without you. He's okay with or without you. He's probably less of a target and more safe without you around. It doesn't matter if he is or isn't, what matters is that whatever happened to him because of you- he's recovering from it. He's going to make it._

"He's okay! Spike, he's okay!" Buffy launched himself into the vampire's arm suddenly, one second of genuine relief and happiness flooding her so strongly it needed a release.

"Uh. Yes. He is." Spike awkwardly patted her back and felt himself slipping reveling in that warmth. That closeness. The hand stopped patting and rested mid back.

Lukewarm strength enfolding her. Like it used to be.

_Once, somebody loved me._

Both of them pushed away hastily, embarrassed grins on their faces. "G'night."

"See you later."

"Yep."

They lingered, him in the doorway, her just in front of it. The truly awkward part of leaving being that both of them wouldn't mind if they stayed together a bit longer. Or a lot longer.

"Okay, then."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

* * *

They lay in separate rooms, pretending to be tired, pretending to sleep. Eventually, thoughts of the day and night's odd companionship faded into dreams.

* * *

He was walking hand in hand with Dru, in Paris. _Finally_, he felt a contented smile on his face. "D'you remember the last time we were here, Pet?"

"Mmm, you took me all the way to the top of Notre Dame to let me name all the gargoyles." Dru giggled and leaned into his side, tongue flicking out, licking his cheekbone. He shivered deliciously.

"That's not all we did."

"I thought I could fly." Her luminous eyes were starry and her voice took on a dreamy quality as she let her arms drift from her sides, floating.

"Good thing I was there to catch you, Precious."

"I know. I would have gone...splat!" Dru glided her hands down his arms rapidly and then laughed up at him mischievously.

"Would I ever let that happen to my Princess? Your William would do anything to save you." He drew her up in his arms, and kissed her. He almost wept, he had been longing for this kiss for so many months. "Drusilla." He breathed out, hands digging into her shoulders, tucking her tight to him, never letting her get away again. "Do anything to save you, Baby."

She pulled back suddenly, spitting. "Spike!"

"What is it, Darling, what's wrong?" He cupped his hand under mouth and caught what she was choking on. Gray cinders filled his palm. "Dru!"

"You taste of ashes. Ashes!" Her playful, affectionate tone was gone, replaced by accusing eyes and a trembling, pointing finger. "You'd do anything to save me, would you? How could you?"

"I had to, Luv, you would've died." Spike clutched her pointing finger, pulling her palm to his chest. "You'd have died. I couldn't let you die, I had to save you, however I could!" He was pleading, pulling her back.

"Save me? Save me?" Her voice rose and soared, hands clawing herself away from him. Wherever her razor claws scored his skin, streams of ash ran out instead of blood.

"What's happening?" Spike clutched his chest as it wept gray trails, the trickles becoming torrents.

"Ashes. Ashes, you're covered in her. Burning in her. You're ashes inside now, my pretty William." She looked at him pityingly as he fell to the ground.

"She's nothin' to me! She was a tool to get you free, get you back. To save you." He cried desperately.

"Saved me." Dru caressed his cheek. Ashes cascaded down, filling his mouth. He couldn't speak, just listen. Her thumb traced each eyelid, and he was blinded.

"Oh, you saved me."

The world was gray and murky and bitter. He called out, but merely gargled the grit. The last thing he heard as he fell into an ash oblivion was, "But you destroyed _us_."

* * *

She sat in the warm sand. Leaning against his comforting chest, their hands clasped across her torso, their silver rings intertwined. "Where've you been? I haven't seen you in days." Buffy murmured softly, sadly, head burrowing back to rest under his chin.

"I've been right here. You just stopped seeing me."

"What do you mean- you're all I see, anywhere. I see your name, hear it- feel you around me." Buffy turned to him, shocked and hurt, voice quavering in mournful desperation. "I'll never stop seeing you."

"But I'm not here for you." He shook his regretfully.

"It's my fault. I'm so sorry." She rose up on her knees, hands caressing his face.

He gently put her hands down. "Sorry won't bring me back."

"But- but you're here. You don't need to come back, you just need to stay." Buffy curled his hands around hers, trying to prevent him from pulling further away.

"I'll never leave you. Not even if you kill me." His voice was a dark brush against her ear.

"No. Not this again, not this." She recognized this place, this dream, those words. "No!" She clutched him tightly, but no portal opened up to suck him away from her. A momentary feeling of relief came over her. "Oh, thank God. I thought-" She sighed, and smiled up at him, breathing rapidly as anxiety left her.

"You're leaving me."Angel whispered, and unlaced his fingers.

"I'm not! I would never! I'll never-"

"It's okay." He calmed.

"It's not okay!" She denied furiously.

"It's happening anyway."

"No! I love you. I'll always love you, no matter what, I-"

No portal opened up behind him, she simply faded. He was there. She wasn't. He was alone on the beach, and she was screaming for him, crying out to him, and yet- it had no effect. She was gone. She'd drifted from the picture.

_I left him._

* * *

They woke up at different times. They had identical thoughts, running over top of each other, perfectly coordinated in their misery.

_It's time._

_ If I don't eliminate her-_

_ If I don't get rid of him-_

_ -or go out myself- something even worse is going to happen._

_ Something sick, a betrayal of the only true love I've ever had, the true love we shared,_

_ me and Angel-_

_ Dru an' I-_

_ It'll be mocked._

_ How could I ever let myself forget him?_

_ How could I ever let myself look at anyone else?_

_ I'm getting over it. I'm moving on..._

_ He makes me forget._

_ She makes me behave like a human._

_ He makes me live like a criminal._

_ She makes me bloody care._

_ He makes me feel something._

_ She makes me give a damn about living._

_ He makes me care whether I live or die._

_ How could I let him in? A soulless demon, the one who hurt him, who hurt me..._

_ What the hell was I thinking, getting close to her? A Slayer- killer of our kind..._

_ This _cannot _happen. Must end now. One way, or the other._

_ Waiting time is over._

* * *

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Note: Finally- there is smut. However, this is not my usual type of piece, and this is not my typical smut. Spike is evil, Buffy's not herself. It might not be what you expect, but it's where things start. _

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Graie, Blade Redwind, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, Lil-Leti, Seapea, Maire Ailbhe, MaryZaa, Jewel74 and Lyzzybelle. _

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part XI**

The order pad bore a single note when she got up.

_It's time._

She concurred. _Agreed. Wait for me tonight._

Her dead-eyed, dead-faced mask was firmly in place as she walked to work. He wasn't there to treat her arm, but when she removed the gauze, the burn was gone. Good. Slayer strength was back. _One more demon to slay. Mine or his, it's anyone's guess._

* * *

He came in, read the note, and took the pad with him to his chair. Wait for her. They were done waiting. Time to end this. If he waited for her to get home._ How bloody ironic._

* * *

"Delivery! Kate!"

Buffy instinctively hurried through her current task. Delivery guy. Blood guy. Time for her "weekly break." She slipped out the front today, made her way to the back alley, waited until Kate and Pedro unloaded the week's meat order, and waited for Mike to turn to her. _Why am I doing this? Today of all days, buying a week's worth of blood for Spike. He might not need it. Or it's a really weird parting gift from me. _But she did it anyway, silently taking the box, leaving a twenty and a ten in Mike's hand and disappearing, not even waiting for the change.

"You okay?" Tim was standing behind her as she turned from the freezer.

Buffy answered in a flat voice. "Fine."

"Getting some ice for the burn?"

"It's fine."

"Uh. Good." Tim followed her nervously. "I'm really sorry. It was a total accident, you know that right? And I'm really, really sorry."

"It's fine." Buffy pushed past him, her responses unvaried and unconcerned. She picked up her orders.

"Is your boyfriend mad at me? Like, is he gonna beat me up?"

"My boyfriend?" Buffy felt like someone slapped her across the face. _My boyfriend is dead! _

"Yeah. He was really mad when you got hurt, and I just wanted him to know-"

"My roommate. He's only my _roommate_." Buffy's eyes connected briefly with the scared cook's. "One of us is moving out, though."

* * *

He was ready to make his move. But it had to be fair. No pouncing on her when she walked in the door. But not going to sit down and share a bottle, toast the worthy enemy and someone's last night on earth. No. They had had over a month of silent, unrecognized toasts. Laughs. Tears. Meals. Movies. Chores. Home repairs. Secrets and lies and truths and seeing too much. Too much of their outsides, too much of their insides.

He finished his second bottle of the day as the clock ticked to four. Two was giving him the nerves to stop thinking and start acting. Three or more would be giving her the advantage. And just one wouldn't cut it.

He drew hot smoke into his lungs and let it wisp out of his nose, circling him, obscuring him. Cloaking his face and making his already bright eyes sting, the perfect cover for already glinting orbs. "C'mon, Luv. Let's start this show. The waiting is killing me. And that's _your_ job."

* * *

She took the stairs. The elevator was working, but she was just better at doing something with her body. Both hands were full, carrying the box. Usually Spike would have picked her up on blood days. It was heavy and awkward, and the blood began to thaw and melting ice soaked through the box during the long walk home.

She dropped the box at the doorstep with a little high-pitched grunt and a cry of dismay.

Spike wrenched open the door. "What-"

"Careful!" Buffy shooed at him. "Don't step on the bags!"

"Oh, I didn't pay you this morning." They both stooped and began scooping the bags off the floor, out of the remains of the soggy, dissolving cardboard box.

"I got it." She shrugged. He used his hip to swing open the door for them, and they tracked into the kitchen.

"You didn't have to get this." He said softly, taking bags from her, putting them in the freezer.

"Delivery guy was there." She muttered with another shrug.

"Might as well, then. Here, let me at least-" He reached into his hip pocket, but she shook her head stubbornly. "Alright. You'll know where it is then."_ In case you win._

"And you know where the week's food is coming from." _In case you win._

Stalling over.

Almost.

"You want to get cleaned up or anything?" He didn't say "first", but the implication was clear.

"Just let me get changed." She wasn't going to risk ruining her uniform. In case he lost. She'd still have a job to go to and needed clothes to wear to it.

"Right." He paced the living room while she went into her bedroom. He took his wallet out. _ In case I lose. It won't dust with me. She can get her blood money. Hah. Gallows humor. _He left it on top of the fridge. _We probably won't destroy that. Oh damn. _He went back to the living room and started pushing the appliances and chairs to the little dining area. _Gotta have room. This is going to be one for the ages._

* * *

_This is going to get ruined so- do I mind? Oh God, if he wins, what are they gonna bury me in? I don't have any skirts. Or heels. Oh, and under what name? Should I ask him to call Willy and let Giles know so they can stop looking? He probably will stay here, and then he'll probably just get rid of the body- which is me- so it'll be- oh my God. I'm going to be a _body_. Or he's going to be dust. Stop thinking about that. You get to get less thinking from this, however it turns out. No more tricky thoughts, no more fake "getting better feelings", no more letting him make you think what you did was okay, or that you can let Angel go. Angel would never, ever, ever let you go. _

She was in jeans and a snug blue shirt, hair up in a ponytail. Battle face on. Only one thing missing.

She slowly reached inside her purse, to the inner zipper. Wood. She pulled it out. It still fit in her hand, like a part of her, like her palm had been too empty this whole time. Another thing brushed her knuckles as her hand curled around the stake. Silver and cool.

She let out a little half-sob, lips turning down in a sudden spasm. _I'm not leaving you. But I don't want to put this on either. Hurts. Just hurts too much. I have let go somehow, I can't take loving you and not having you, and I just have to let go of some pain, some way._

_Time to make the pain stop- either all of it, or some of it, any pain stopping would be good. _

She left the ring in the bag_. _She tucked the stake in her pocket and pushed the door open.

* * *

It was hard to get started. They'd gotten out of the habit of fighting, even if they rarely really "got along."

"You got what you need?" He flicked his cigarette out in an ashtray on the windowsill.

"Not yet. But I'm going to get it." She smiled, a cold, dark smile.

"Oooh, new look for you, Slayer."

"Don't call me -" She stopped. Why ask him not to use her given title, when she made her one and only after retirement performance?

"If the shoe fits, Luv." He circled her, half lidded eyes and sinister, half open mouth. The wolf, scenting the lamb.

She circled him right back. "I guess it does, this once."

"And there'll never be a second time, will there?" He asked, some little tiny part hoping she'd say yes, of course there could be. That it didn't have to end today. _Why? So you can sink in her filth? 'Til you _are _covered in her? Dru would die of shame if she knew you thought about the Slayer like you do- like you care._

"Nope. One showing only." Buffy felt the stake pressing into her waist like a knife in the back. She should have it out. She should be ready to make it quick and hard and over. _Attack him, so he attacks you, and in the end- only one of you wins._ The stake stayed where it was.

_Vamp up. Fangs out, wrinkles on. This isn't a social gathering, this is a duel to the death. If one of us could just get a little bit deadly. _He goaded her along, hoping he could also coax himself into it. If he was ready, why was it so difficult? "Not up for it, is that it? Just want to dance?"

She spat out a denial. "I would never dance with you."

"Then get on with fightin' with me!" He stepped closer, standing still. "You know it's time!"

"It's been time for a long time!" She crouched slightly. "You just like this game too much."

"What game?"

"Head games! Making me think it's okay, or it's safe-"

"Don't blame me for what's in your head! And if it's anyone's game- it's not just mine! Takes two to play!"

"Then it's time for a different game. Old rules apply." She didn't even know how the stake had gotten in her hand.

"Oh, there it is. Wondered if you even had one." Spike chuckled, his own weapons becoming visible.

"So you were going to fight an unarmed woman? Real brave."

"Oh, Sweet Thing, you could have nothing on you but your bare hands and you'd find a way. If you want it bad enough." He purred, and punched. "Resourceful. Knew it the second I saw you. Said to myself- that's the best one. The best one there ever was or will be. And she's gonna be all mine."

"Funny, when I saw you- all I thought was 'bad dye job'." She panted and ducked his blow, returning it with one of her own.

Spike laughed delightedly, monstrous face ridging further with laugh lines. "Aww, Pet, you do make it so good. Even remembered the banter, the little insults."

"If you wanted insults, Spike, I've had those ready for weeks." She quipped.

"Yeah? Well, you can use 'em if you want- but if you still have energy to talk- you're not doin' it right." Jab, sidestep, kick.

"Or maybe you're not giving me much of a challenge."

"Step it up then, shall I?" He hit her hard, right in the mouth, watched blood spurt from a burst lip. "Mmm, forgot how much I loved that smell." He licked the back of his hand. "Slayer blood."

"Enjoy the smell, because you don't get to taste!" She countered, both hands joining together and swinging up hard from her waist to his jaw, sending his head back with a pez-like snap.

"Oh, I don't know about that." He grabbed both her hands and twisted them hard, up like a pretzel's center, in front of her, stepping behind her, fangs at her neck. "I think it all depends on who's hungriest for this. There's only one ticket out, with two options on how to go."

"I think-" Buffy squirmed against him, right before she stepped hard on his ankle and used her weight to throw him down, "hunger's only half the battle. The rest is all about who fights to win."

"Then I win." Both boots together, up, catching her in the stomach and sending her back. She didn't get up. He felt a momentary pang. She was quite small, and for all the strength, she had a soft middle. He'd felt it several times recently, his arms had seemed to find their way around her lately. With that much force- could've ruptured her stomach or spleen or something.

_Well good. Supposed to hurt her, aren't I?_ He took two broad strides across the room and picked her up by the back of the neck. "I fight dirty." He snarled. "You don't. So I win."

Her head rose suddenly, mockery in her eyes. "Correction. I _didn't_. But now-" knee to the groin, nails in his hand, and she was free, and _he_ was on the floor, "now I fight however I want."

_Oh God, she's amazing. _Spike had the supremely wrong and unbidden thought assail him, even as his crotch was stinging in agony. But there she was, above him, bloody and sweaty and fighting dirty. It made him homesick, heartsick for Dru. Only Dru never sweat, she was too graceful, too fluid. Also undead. _Sod you! Why the hell are you comparing her to Dru, you worthless piece of scum? Get on your feet and fight for the honor of your ladylove. Either kill or be killed, but do it right!_

"There's dirty, and then there's unfair advantages." Spike rose stiffly, hand wincingly at his belt buckle.

"There's unfair advantages and not giving a damn." Buffy smiled saccharinely. "And since you're still on your feet, I'm guessing unfair didn't really happen."

"No, but it's about to." He lunged and wrapped a fist in her hair. "Ready?" He tore her neck back, eyes glinting down at hers as he held her by the roots.

"So ready." She staked him, hard, in the hand holding her locks. They reared apart, in pain, in anger, and in mild disbelief. It was really happening.

_We said it would. When we couldn't stand this life one more second- when it had just become too hurtful and confusing. Funny. We learned to live with the grief and the loneliness, but give us a glimpse that we might get better, that someone else might ever be able to fill the void, even a speck... It pulled the trigger. One of us has to go._

They started to fight in earnest.

Round and round, punches, gouges and kicks, bites, scratches, claws- they were slowly wearing one another down. It was happening much more easily then it would have a year ago, but it was certainly more challenging than the battle they'd had on the night of their reintroduction.

They were hitting the other person, but in their minds were abusing themselves. Every blow received was a question, "Is this the one that ends it?" and a reminder, "You deserve it. For even thinking you could move on, or should move on, let go." Every blow dealt was a statement. "I will prove I am faithful to my true love. Even if only to their memory. I prefer the emptiness to ever letting myself think they might be replaced."

* * *

In every fight there comes a moment when something breaks in one opponent's favor. There's fatigue and shoddiness to account for, as well as the mental aspect. For Buffy, her bad break was a wall. A literal one. One he threw her into, that was perfectly flat and bare and had nothing for her to pull herself up on quickly. He was bearing down on her and she realized all she needed to do was get her stake pointy end up at just the right second-

-and he kicked out at her instead of falling down to prey upon her as she had expected. Her stake went flying, his boot crushed her hand underneath it, and then he was kneeling on top of her, dragging her up to his level.

_This is it. Thank God. Thank God, this is it. _She winced and closed her eyes, head twisted to one side in a frozen shudder.

He felt his fangs going back into his face even as he lunged in for the killing bite. _What the hell?_ His hands stopped bruising her shoulders and grabbed her, one hard under her chin, and one at the back of her head. He still dove in with all the force of the final blow- but he was kissing her instead, hard, on her wincing, half opened mouth.

Buffy's eyes remained shut for a millisecond's thought. _This is biting? This is kissing. This feels like Angel's kisses only- no. No love in it. Not soft. Hard, biting and smoky._ She winced and her eyes flew open.

With a muffled screech she pushed him off, spitting , wiping her mouth. "What the hell? God, geez, Spike!"

He just glared from a foot away. He had no explanation. His own brain was making the same cries of consternation.

"You kissed me. Ew! You- I can't believe you kissed me!" She wiped at her mouth in disbelieving disgust. "You taste like ashes."

Buffy didn't understand what she'd said to earn the reaction she did. Spike's face changed, horrified, mystified, then enraged. He smacked her hard, full across the face, pressing her back to the wall with the other hand.

"I'm not! I don't! I AM _NOT_ COVERED IN HER! I AM _NOT_ FULL OF ASHES, YOU BITCH! YOU_ BITCH_!" He was shouting at her, at something somewhere else, eyes wildly darting between Buffy's face and other empty spaces in the room.

"Spike." She spoke in the voice she'd used last night, her soft, "almost friend" voice. "What the heck? What...?" She couldn't form a question, she didn't even understand what she was seeing.

He spat on the ground, on his hand, looking frantically at his leavings. "I'm not full of ashes!" He glared at her. "What's going on? What'd she tell you? How do you know?"

"I don't know anything, I don't understand this part." She sounded genuinely confused and a little bit freaked. Funny how the prospect of him killing her hadn't freaked her out as much as watching him talk to "invisible people." She pulled his hand from her chest, where it was compressing her breastbone and practically pushing it until it fused to her spine, tentatively reaching for his face, as if she could steady his frenzied eyes.

"She said it. She said I'm covered in you. That I- I've sold out to you. She left me because I'd done a deal with you. An' to her, I'm nothin' but ashes. Ashes. Dead to her. 'Cause of you." The tone went from confused and deranged to suddenly snakelike and threatening. "Not gonna be my ashes, gonna be _yours_."

"I meant like cigarettes." Buffy whispered timidly. Spike had lost his mind.

"I'm going mad. I'm losin' it, Slayer. She's everywhere, she's in my dreams, she's in my blood, and how am I dead to her, if she's so alive to me?" He raked his hands through his hair.

"I don't know. I don't know, 'cause the same thing happens to me. He's there in my dreams and out here he's not and I should be dead, but I fight to stay alive. And it is. This life? All ashes." Her hands mirrored his, scraping her sweat-soaked hair out of its ponytail and into a loose bundle at the base of her neck.

"Stop saying that word, Slayer." He demanded.

"Stop calling me Slayer." She returned.

"You are."

"It is."

They tussled together, argument crescendoing from words to hands. She reached for her stake, and he blocked her. She rolled and he was on top of her. She pushed him off, and he came back for more.

"Spike..." She looked up into desperate blue eyes.

"Slayer."

"Stop saying..."

"But you _are_." His voice dropped, slid down, thick and heavy, like syrup. "You're the _Slayer_. And here you are... with me." His lips were dry and bloodied, so he licked them. "Been with you for so long, it seems like such a long time, in some sort of purgatory." She nodded with a tiny bob of her chin in weary agreement. "Maybe I _am_ covered in you. Do I taste like ashes, really?" He leaned his lips to hers, softer this time.

She let him, and then- oh God- she opened her mouth just slightly, and felt his tongue press in between her lips, and her own go between his. She swallowed and tasted, gasping slightly. She could feel him relaxing, his mouth getting softer and her own opening more and- Buffy pushed his shoulders back with a sudden frantic shake of her head. "No. Not ashes. Just sort of-smokey."

"Bad?" He whispered.

"No." She was truthful.

"Good?" He moved against her. Half pressing down, half pulling back, utterly lost.

"No." She was less truthful.

"You don't lie well."

"I lie amazingly well." She took two deep, fast breaths to try and get air back in her lungs. "Look at the life I've been living. All the stuff I hide."

She had a point there. He pressed, "So, not good? At all?"

"I-" She made a feeble noise and felt him moving back against her again, head bowed, kissing her with deliberate precision. This time even the smokey taste was gone. It was just the temperate, moving, roving sensation that she'd missed so much, and with much less gentleness and a lot more dexterity then she'd ever felt before. It was from Spike, he didn't love her, he didn't even exactly like her, so of course it wasn't gentle. It being Spike made it both safe and dangerous at once. It was confusing. Above all, it frightened her. No one should ever kiss her again. For three reasons. She was Angel's. She didn't want to hurt again. She didn't want to hurt anyone else. But Spike fit in between two of the conditions, he had a loophole, the one person in the world both looking to live and die, win and lose- hurt more and hurt less. This night was supposed to make her stop thinking, now she was just a bewildered mess and she hated him for it. Hated herself for letting it happen.

So she stopped it. "Get off me. Now." She commanded in a low, shaking voice.

He cocked his head. "Make me."

"Spike-" She swallowed. Her tone told him this was not in the unspoken rules, that if this became an attack, it was so far off the heading of "unfair advantages" that the game would end. Now. Messily. In her favor.

"Make me." A less challenging tone. Almost negotiating. "Make me. Push me off and I'll stay away. I'll walk right out that door."

Oh, hell no. That was not an option. He stayed, as part of the carpeting or as the winner, but he didn't get to leave the ring. "Don't."

"Don't leave?"

"Right."

"You want me to stay?"

The word dragged out of her soul unwillingly. "Yeah." It was a shameful confession, so why did it slide so easily from her lips? The hands that had been pushing him off, now just held him at bay. Not pulling forward or pushing back, simply keeping them in a new sort of limbo.

So he stayed, half kneeling, half leaning, and his senses were crying out for more. _Someone wants me. Someone wants me to stay, not running from me. Not ashes, merely smokey. Murky. If I could just make the noise in my head stop, make everything okay for a few moments... _

They locked eyes, trapped in this odd position, this holding pattern. Each of them wanting more and less at the same time.

Instincts for survival took over again. _Make the pain stop. Numb yourself. Not with alcohol or hard work, or sheer bloody exhaustion. With each other._

He slid back slowly, still keeping in contact with her. Her legs were spread, sprawled around his, and he scooted forward, knee to her hot center.

She gasped and gave him a shocked look.

"You're hot. Wet." Traced one hand softly down her stomach, where she winced. He'd bruised her badly there.

"That's not from you." She didn't even realize she'd become wet, but yet it often happened when battling. Something about adrenaline and blood rushing...

"I know."

"It's from fighting."

"I know. I know it makes you burn and sweat and feel, even in there. Me, too. That's why-" he rubbed his knee gently up and down her seam, watching her eyes widened slightly, "we love to do it. And we've been fightin' together...we're both affected." He rubbed more insistently, his arousal trapped and straining at his own center seam.

"You're acting like we're animals in heat." She hissed, hands stopping the pressure from his knee, pushing her palms back against his knee cap.

"No... I'm acting like a demon. Not in heat. Just in need." He corrected in a low, sinking voice.

"You're sick." She whispered, voice cracking a little.

"Then cure me."

He had the nerve to touch her. In the place only Angel had ever-_no. Don't remember that night. _Part of her enjoyed the feeling of some physical pleasure, after nothing but pain for months. But then, to ask for cure? She reared up, shoved him down hard, sliding awkwardly down. He caught her, holding her on top. She shook her head, and his eyes flickered. His arms left hers, and dropped back to the sides.

She licked her bleeding lips, looking at the suddenly defenseless being below her. They'd seen each other at the peak of power and the pit of vulnerability. But they'd only ever said there was one cure- getting off this planet. What was he implying? "What makes you think there's a cure?" She whispered faintly.

" 'Cause you can make it _stop_- even for a few hours a day..." He admitted.

"So do you. For me." She dropped her hands to brush his shoulders, then clasped them close to her chest, afraid to touch him further. "But you're not supposed to." She bit her lower lip anxiously.

"Don't you think I know that?" He gave her a scathing look. "I can't explain what you do- you just do it."

"I wish you wouldn't explain. You talk way too much." _You make me think. You make me start living outside myself, remember what _life_ is like. _

"So do you."

"So shut me up already." _Bite me. Your lips are just a couple inches away from a neck, you can handle it. _

"Alright then."

Positions reversed again, and they were almost out of words. "Not like that." She gasped between bruising kisses.

"Then show me how you want it." He challenged.

But she didn't know that. Sex equalled Angel, equalled Angelus, equalled bad. "Oh God. Just make the thinking stop!"

"I will if you will."

"I'll try."

"This wasn't supposed to happen." He grunted, and pushed her back against the wall.

"I know." She was caught in teeth scraping, lip biting kisses. His hands were ripping her shirt down over her shoulders instead of up over her head. _Oh my God, what am I doing, what am I-_

She gasped when he pulled her flat to him, hands up in her hair, hungry for touch. So was she. And finally, the hunger made the wheels in their heads stop turning.

Clothes ripped off, pushed down, and she felt herself blushing, not just her face, the whole of her body seemed to glow in embarrassment. So this was her second time, on this scratchy carpet, in the almost corner of a living room, with Spike. She didn't feel loved or beautiful, but she did feel wanted and not alone. She decided that was more than enough considering the circumstances.

She wasn't a patch on Dru, but she was differently lovely. All bruises and swells right now, and stiff, nervous motions. He wanted to urge her to relax, but wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't say he loved her, or he'd be gentle, or even that he wouldn't hurt her, or that it would be good. It'd be fucking each other. Besides, hard to counsel relaxation when he couldn't relax himself. He was like a supercharged engine put on blocks, hard motions, gears and pistons ready to roar to life as he finally got his black jeans down and boots shoved off.

She wasn't ready, and he didn't make her that way. She wouldn't have allowed it. No soft touches and foreplay. That was making love. She had no idea what this was making, probably not making anything, more like an "unmaking".

Buffy bit down on his shoulder as something huge and hard pushed inside where she was tightest, wet but mainly unopened, her muscles clenched.

Spike threw his head back and let himself be swamped in her. Red hot torrents inside her, swirling over him, heating him, the tightest and hottest he'd ever felt. He had momentary reminders she wasn't used to this, but he couldn't make comforting words come out of his seething brain. He kissed her hard, and cupped her bottom, lifting it up, changing the angle so he'd find something to please her, take her pain away. One hand left her rear, and found hers. They held hands, gripping one another as the enjoined digits rested on her hip and rocked harder, faster, trying to outrun something they knew they'd never be free of.

But they could hide from it for just a few minutes.

Buffy was sure she was tearing open inside, but she didn't want him to stop. Let him pour everything out on her, the pounding pain with overtones of pleasure seemed to flood her mind and shut it down for a little while.

"Okay?" He finally panted out, still slamming into her.

"Yeah." She nodded, eyes closed.

"Hurts?"

"No."

"Liar."

"It hurt last time too."

It's s'posed to that first time."

"I don't care, it makes me hurt so much less." She laid his head to hers by clasping both hands in his silky, damp hair. Physical pain was nothing compared to emotional anguish. Here the physical pain was lessening on every thrust.

"Me, too." Spike nodded against her and resumed exploration of her hot, sweet mouth, with its traces of split lips and hints of blood.

As good as it was at distracting them and relieving inner pain- it wasn't good in itself. The sex was brutal and roughshod and had only the most basic connection, two creatures in need and pain. "Here." Spike sat up, still in her, watching her hands modestly, but lazily cover her torso. "Gonna pick you up."

"Why?"

"Bed."

"But-"

"My bed?" He offered.

"Okay." She relented.

In seconds she was dropped down on the bare mattress, splayed and feeling like fire had caressed her between her thighs. He'd been in her while carrying her to the room, now he was outside of her, and her soft tunnel was vacant.

"Didn't mean to hurt you in there."

"It wasn't bad."

"Wasn't good."

"Wasn't supposed to be." She shrugged.

"Well, it needs to be better than that." Spike said firmly, and crawled up the edge of the bed, over her bare body. "Hang on a minute."

"What are you-" Her throat constricted and she didn't need to finish the question. His head was down there. _There_.

Poor thing, hadn't meant to tear the edges, break her skin inside, hadn't thought about it. Take care of that, patch her up, make her relax enough to feel properly pleasurable. Because he wasn't done with her yet.

His tongue darted, up, down, quick, steady licks across her center, soothing her discomfort, and then up at her bead, lightly lapping, just for a few seconds, making her arch and gasp. "Feel better, Luv?"

"Uh-huh." She squeaked. That hadn't happened the first time, and she had figured it was probably not the hyped up experience every woman claimed. She had been wrong. Even in these circumstances, that had been _awesome._

"Good." He was back on top of her, and sliding in much more easily. She was looking at him with puzzled, but mildly pleased eyes. Things were going to get interesting. Oh, not lovey-dovey, he'd never be that, not with her. But things had changed.

Buffy felt the change in him, the violent part was gone, but the hard part wasn't. They weren't holding on for dear life now. Just holding on.

"Slayer." Pressing into her, pressing down on her. _Hold me, dammit, just hold me back, I want-_

He got what he wanted. One hand caressed his rippling chest, the other over his smooth back. They curled. They spasmed. Stopped fighting against each other, and started fighting something unseen, with each other.

_We always have good truces..._

* * *

Buffy didn't know what it was supposed to feel like, or if it was supposed to take this long. She stopped caring.

Oh God, she was magnificent when she didn't give a damn about what she was "supposed to do". He'd never in a million years have guessed she'd be the passionate type. But there she was, twined up with him, mouths, tongues, hands all roughly exploring, rolling and tumbling across the bed as they found rhythms.

He suckled each nipple and guided her head to his bite, where she returned the gesture. They made twin groans of enjoyment and smiled when the other couldn't see it. He lifted her up and slammed her to the wall, their knees jostling for position at the head of the mattress while he went in from behind, and found her hands pulling his down from their resting places beside her head to dance between her thighs, rubbing together, touching her ravished paradise together.

"Move with me." He whispered. His pelvis rode her hips, soft, small rump in the muscles of his locked thighs.

"I am." Like a seesaw, like riding waves, they moved together. She hadn't known when she'd grabbed his hands for support she'd lead them down, and she wouldn't care if he was all over her, hands locked together, teasing her to the point where she could let go.

_Yes. That's the point. Let it go. Let it all go. _

_ You can't._

_ I know. But maybe if I could just let go once- for a few minutes- i could keep it gone..._

"Go on. Scream, curse, cry, I don't care. Make yourself feel something good for a change." He whispered, nipping her ear, working his way down her neck.

"I do feel good. I'll- y'know. Soon." She panted, moving with his thrusts, learning how amazing this intrusive pleasure could be. He was cupping one breast now, massaging it, a roll and press of his thumb across her nipple with each stroke. It was intense and hot and thoroughly overstimulating, so why couldn't she "get there"? And how about him? This new "battle" had been going on for awhile. She knew there was such a thing as stamina, but she expected it to have ended some time ago. "What about you?"

"I'm almost there." Spike assured. _Should have been there ten or twenty minutes ago, but couldn't bring it off._ Little flashes of the only other partner he'd had kept coming at him. Which was odd, because Buffy moved, acted, tasted, and felt nothing like Drusilla. _At all_. If it weren't for female anatomy, he would have sworn he was fucking some sort of hybrid creature, all the same parts but with completely different reactions.

They continued, five minutes, ten minutes, until she sagged breathless against the wall. "Buffy?" He locked his forearm against her ribs to straighten her up, other hand reaching for her drooping chin.

"I can't." Buffy was pushing back against him, turning, struggling away.

"I'm not doin' it right? Or you hurt?"

"Why haven't you- um- cum yet? Am I- not good?" Her voice trembled. She'd asked Angel something very similar. Only, unbeknownst to her, it had been Angelus by then.

"You're amazing." He hadn't wanted to go soft on her, but he ran his hand gently down her face. "You're wonderful at it, Buffy."

"I don't know what I'm doing." She confessed.

"Then you're a natural."

"Then why can't I- make you?"

"You will. If you'd let go, I can follow you over, Luv."

"If I do- no. That's when something bad happens." She whispered.

"What?" He drew his dark brows together.

"If I- if we do this, and we both-" she swallowed again, certain words sounding so wrong when she said them to Spike, "cum, then there's that moment where everything relaxes and you're happy, and - bad things happen."

"I don't have a curse." He reminded her.

"I know. But it's like I don't. Big pleasure always equals big bad- and no, not you!" She glared when she saw the hints of a smirk beginning. "Not that kind of big bad. Just really awful. My body doesn't understand the concept of fine print." Buffy shifted restlessly under him.

"Then tell your body this." He put his forehead to hers and looked straight into her eyes, trying to see the tangled little mind behind them, "The bad things already happened between you an' me." He wasn't fully aware of what he was saying as he continued, unsure of what exactly it might mean. "There won't be anymore bad- not between _us_."

Something unlocked in her brain and her body, channeled down to her grasping pink walls. _It's over. The bad part. It's finally over. One of us had to win tonight, and one of us had to die. Maybe only parts of us, though. It's _over_. This is the duel to the death, and this is the dying part. Where you let go, and oblivion grabs the pain..._

_ It has to happen for him, too._ _What's the bad part for him, where's the pain, what caused the pain..._She gambled. "You did the right thing."

Spike seemed confused by the statement. "Pardon?"

"When you made the truce. You- saved her." Buffy felt her vocal cords swell with emotion suddenly. He did what she couldn't do. Why should he suffer for it? "We had to do- what we did. So we could save people we love. And you- you didn't betray her love, or her trust, or anything. You saw what she couldn't see. And you saved her. Because you love her. You did the right thing."

His jaw worked. "You talk too much."

"Then shut me up." They shared smiles with brimming eyes, pained eyes, but eyes finally opened.

He did. He pinned her hands above her head, felt her legs climb around his calves like vines on pillars, and gave in. All the old pain- it was there. But it was in ashes.

* * *

Buffy didn't know it would feel like this. The slow building pressure, the pleasure, wave after wave, and then when she thought it couldn't get any better, he lifted himself up in a straight armed push-up, practically breaking her wrists when he put his weight on them, and went full tilt inside her, face a contorted, blissful smile of ecstasy. Hard and fast, his tip rubbed some spot inside her that had never been reached, something hidden under layers of fragile tissue last time, and never fully entered. Now he was burrowing inside, higher, harder, harder, faster, until her shoulders lifted off the bed with a scream, abdominals crunched into a half circle, knees drawing up.

"Yes! Yes, that's the way it's supposed to feel!" Spike crowed as the scream turned into fast, panting little moans. He felt her walls rippling and milking him, made his spine concave, and emptied into her.

They collapsed, tangled, spent, and exchanged a glance. After a few seconds of getting his brain back in comprehendible order he cleared his throat. "Still alive?" Spike asked the girl beside him, a glossy eyed, jellied mass.

"Mostly." She managed to say over the pretty rockets zooming around her brain. "Still undead?"

"Very much so."

"That was way unexpected." Buffy looked over at him, suddenly acutely aware of their state of undress, wishing for a sheet.

"But not bad."

"Not bad." She agreed. The orgasmic stupor was still strong, but tendrils of rational thought were creeping back in.

"Some duel to the death, yeah?" He chuckled.

"We kinda screwed up on the death part. No one died."

"No... but I think a couple dead-inside people are startin' to come back to life."

_To be continued..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, Blade Redwind, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, Lil-Leti, Seapea, Jackiemack916, Maire Ailbhe, MaryZaa, Jewel74, Lyzzybelle, jmoran319, the madara's little sister, and Rachel._

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part XII**

"So. It's a draw?" Buffy asked, lying beside him, yet not touching him.

"Or a tie. Not sure which I prefer." He smiled and rolled over, reaching for the packs of smokes that lived on the carpet at the edge of the bed. "Want one?"

"Nope." She waited until it was in between his lips before flicking it away, unlit.

"Oi!"

"What were you gonna light it with, hotshot?" She said reminded him.

"You have a point." He was forced to admit. His coat, his clothes, shoes, wallet, lighter- everything was in the living room or kitchen now.

_And so does he. Wow, does he. _ Buffy winced as she sat up. Spike sat up with her, watching her with worried eyes.

"Leavin'?"

"Yeah. Um. Clothes." Buffy blushed, and kept her back to him.

"Oh." She moved, and winced again. "Oh hell, did I do that much damage?" He hadn't meant to cause anything permanent. Well- he had during the fight, but not during the sex.

"Oh no! Not from you. Exactly." Buffy put a hand over her breasts and turned slightly, showing a contused stomach.

"Oooh. Got you good." He didn't know what to say or do now. He'd never beaten someone up and then shagged them. Never had to apologize to someone he'd hurt before. "Nothin' internally bleedin' is there?"

"No, no way." She shook her head quickly, silently thinking, _I seriously hope not. Man, that would suck. _She slid from the room, and the awkward silence seemed to tail her.

Spike broke it. "Got a few nice marks in yourself. This hand'll be sportin' a gouge for at least a day." He examined the hand she'd staked clean through.

"You asked for it."

"I know." _Literally. _He sighed and went to retrieve his lighter. _What happens now?_

* * *

_We have so crossed the line. Every line I can think of._ Buffy looked through her paltry assortment of clothes. Uniforms. The clothes she was wearing earlier were probably beaten and bled on beyond the powers of bleach. Her one shirt had been ripped for bandages, her clothes from last night smelled like hot sauce and were covered in little orange drips. _Where's the clean stuff? Spike usually does laundry on Fridays doesn't he? So he can talk with Trisha and what's her name and Ed about _Passions_ and make predictions for the weekend cliffhangers. Only I guess if you're planning to die, you don't worry too much about household chores. Oh shoot, I bet that means he missed _Passions _today, too. So he's probably out of clean clothes, like me. I better throw a load in tonight and- Why am I obsessing about clothes? _

_ So I won't obsess about the fact that I just had sex with Spike. _

Oh. My. God._ I had sex with Spike. _

She threw a towel around her instead of wasting anymore time looking for clothes, and hurried back into his room. He was unashamedly all sprawled out on the bare mattress, blowing smoke rings in the air, one arm back behind his head, one leg bent at the knee. The very picture of a centerfold for Beaten Up But Hot Magazine. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." He sat up, hand carelessly dangling across his bent knee. Sitting like that she noticed for the first time the huge slit-like wound in his hand from her stake. "You look a bit peaky. What is it?"

"This thing. Y'know. What happened. Stuff we said." She looked at him apprehensively.

"I meant what I said. Nothin' bad between us, and I consider fightin'-" His serious expression gave way to a cheeky grin, "well fightin' to _kill_, a bad thing. When it's you an' me. At this point. The way things are." He dragged heavily on the menthol, in an effort to stop prattlin' on at her. "God, must've had too many blows to the head. Your fault." They exchanged a wry half-smile. "So if you want a re-match..."

"No. I think- when things are like this- we don't have to fight. Things can go back to how they were." She looked at her hands, clasping the towel tightly at her bust, "Better than they were."

_Wait, does she mean with me, better as in keep doin' what we just did, or does she mean better 'cause her head's clearer?_ "You an' me, you mean?"

_Is that what I mean? I just know life doesn't feel so awful. I finally snapped, and hey, looks like Mr. Repair Vamp and I aren't just good with broken walls, we're good with broken people. As long as we have a little help..._ She groped for words to explain that simply, but the best she came out with was, "I don't want one of us to die, does that count?"

"I'll take it." He smiled and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray by the bed. "Because we exorcised a little grief?" He looked at her from the corner of his eye as he sat back up.

She regarded the pile of his laundry shoved on the floor of the minuscule closet with supreme, if feigned, interest as she answered. "It helped. I feel -better. Just- I don't know. Better."

"Like you hit the bottom, and found it wasn't such a bad place to go." Spike shared his own way of thinking.

They faced each other now, simultaneously. "Yeah! Like that." She nodded eagerly and stepped nearer to the bed. "I mean, it still hurts and it's bad and - ugh. Life sucks. But I let a little bit of the pain go- and it didn't take me out with it."

"Little pieces die, but they don't kill you. Some of it's dead wood, Luv. Gotta get it chipped off or new stuff won't grow."

"Very gardner-y. But smart." She smiled and allowed herself to actually put one knee on the bed. He scooted over and made room for her to join him. "So- you're okay? No 'ashes'?"

"Plenty of ashes. Burned some of the bad out." He admitted, studying her legs under the towel. Bruises all up and down her left. Made sense, her right was usually in the air, kickin' the shit out of him. He sighed again, "She's still gone. But maybe I'm still somethin' without her. Or at least the world keeps movin' without her bein' the center of it."

"Ditto. Only- I mean with Angel."

"I get it, Slayer."

"Spike!"

"Oh, honestly, do you mean-"

"Buffy. Buffy at home. Anne at work."

"So back to the way things were then?"

She hesitated. "Pretty much."

He hesitated too, again, keeping his eyes off her face. "Are we doin' this again?"

A longer hesitation. "No." She murmured. "No, I don't- I don't want to keep doing this."

"Fair enough." He could take it or leave it, he told himself.

"It was just - the fighting and the yelling, and then worrying and freaking- and the thoughts..." She winced and shook her head. "I liked the part at the end. That ending was- wooooh. Amazing."

"It was." He smiled broadly. The smiled turned quizzical. "So the sex was okay?"

"Once we could stop using it like a clothing-optional marital arts class, yeah."

"It's not always like that." He hinted.

"I know. I'd like just once, to have sex that didn't end or begin with extreme violence."

"Well, be fair, only done it twice, right?"

"Mmmhmm." Where exactly was he going with this?

"Then give it another try sometime." He used his shoulder to lightly nudge hers, a gesture of camaraderie. "It can be gentle. All nice and soft. No pain, no violence."

"What? With us? As in with you?" Buffy gave him a supremely doubtful look.

"Not necessarily with me." _Or yes, why not with me, with "us"? Wasn't like anyone else would be allowed close enough, to either of us._ "But say it was. We do alright. Not saying it'd be 'making love', because- I don't love you." He wanted that made clear.

"And I'm really, realllly okay with that." She wrinkled her nose in a half-laugh, half wince.

He ignored her. "But it could be- softer. Gentler. Not knockin' hell out of each other." This time it was his head that came to rest on her shoulder, and his lips planted a light kiss on it.

She swallowed. Her skin buzzed when he touched her. She hadn't known how much she missed being close to someone, intimately close, until she'd experienced it again tonight. "Not knocking anything out of each other would be nice."

The room was dark to begin with, it being windowless, but now the dusk had completely gone and night was ruling. The whole apartment seemed oddly dark. They were creatures of the night, weren't they? Wasn't this their time? "We could try. If you want." He offered in a low, sooty whisper.

"If _you_ want." Her voice stumbled.

Neither wanted to admit anything. Spike finally moved further behind her, and pressed his chin to her cheek, leaning over her. "Nothing bad happened last time."

"I know." She let herself lean back, and made a whimper of pain. "Sorry, not you."

"It won't be so wham bam this time." He said by way of apology, knowing yes, it certainly _was _him.

"Oh no, no pain, not _there_. My stomach." She explained.

He moved to the side and she fell back naturally. Then it was the easiest thing in the world to just not move, and watch in some sort of stupor as he moved in front of her, not looking at her face, looking at her towel, then tugging the towel open.

He stared at her for a moment. Beautiful girl and demon killer, carved up in sections. Head to just below the breasts was beauty, soft, lush, a pretty little bit. Even with swollen lips, it only made her seem sensual. Then the arms and the rib cage were cuts, scrapes, split skin, and bruises. The hips had a fair share of bruises as well but then there was that honeyed delta, perfect and shades of pink and peach. Legs had scattered scrapes and bruises, left more than right. He didn't feel guilt. It was part of the job. And at the moment, he was no oil painting himself, courtesy of the deceptively fragile looking girl on the bed. _So no apologies. Let it go. Move on. _

_All about letting go and moving on. Feeling better._

"Nice. And Easy." He murmured, sliding his hands down from her collar bone to her hips, head moving down in a floaty, almost indecisive motion.

Buffy watched him nervously, at least until his lips made contact. Then her eyes fluttered shut, keeping a sudden burst of tears concealed. Soft, feathery, light kisses all over the bruises, then working their way down, between her legs, and lingering for just a second or two, not using his tongue, just his lips.

She blinked and let her eyes focus up on the ceiling's single globe light, turned off, just the outline visible. Like Spike, a white sheened shadow over her. Kisses were coming back up now, nuzzling the underside of her breasts, then over, brushing and lipping each nipple, then trailing up the column of her neck, finally ending on her lips. Tense, trembling lips.

"Hey." Puzzled whisper. "You know it was just an idea. Don't have to do this again."

"I want to. You have no idea how much I want to." She gripped him mid back, arms circling him with a sudden convulsive cling. "I want a second time. A nice second time. Where it isn't just the one time, and when it's done, no one hurts and no one leaves the next morning- and I don't get to even tell him goodbye until the second before he-"

"Shhhh. Shh, Luv."

"I just wanted a second chance." She confessed.

"I know that, Buffy."

"So - thanks for giving me one." Even if it wasn't exactly how she'd planned, being intimate with Spike was helping erase the nagging voice in her head that associated sex with pain and heartbreak, and once in a lifetime occurrences. She was not cursed to hurt her partners, or them cursed to hurt her.

He beamed, and it rearranged his face. He was a different person when he was happy. She'd never seen that look before. Funny how much she liked it.

"It's mutual. And you're welcome." He eased himself down, then switched his direction, rolling to his back. "Here, you ride. Less weight on your bruises."

She paused, shaking her head. "I never 'rode'."

"Oh, get over here." He huffed, tugging her wrist, making her gasp out a laugh. "You've only done this once, before today. You have a lot more years and a lot more chances before you can say you 'never' did something."

So, clumsily, she let him pull her on top, let her hands rest on his shoulders, and sank down, half way, then all the way, and they smiled at one another as they "clicked".

"Good?" He asked, scarred eyebrow arched- right before both went up, then down rapidly as exquisite tightness engulfed him. "Oh, bloody hell..." He grunted out.

"Great." She answered, pleased with herself. Then he bucked up, not hard like earlier, a nice, even shift further inside her. Her spine lost its bones, and she slumped forward in sudden spasms of delight. With conspiratorial smiles, they regarded one another, him craning his neck to look up at her, her looking up from where she'd cradled her jaw against his forehead.

"See? A natural." He whispered.

"Practice can't hurt..." She winked.

His head ticked up in a pleased nod, just as she was tucking her head down in a self-conscious blush. Lips brushed, paused, and reconnected tentatively, stayed locked on purpose.

_Oh. I could get used to this... _Spike let his hands travel up her warm, supple back, and bring her down to his chest, flush against him. She held him back, knees and arms curled and clutching him.

Second times, second chances... She let out a sound foreign to her ears. A deep, contented sigh. Her partner purred low in his throat, and rolled, capturing her underneath once again and they relaxed together.

* * *

It was slower, but yet it took less time this second time. More in tune and letting go of fears while scars were healing, they coupled lazily and sweetly for perhaps half an hour until they picked up the pace just at the end.

"Oh God. That was- really good." Buffy crawled out from under him, hot and sweaty all over again.

"I know." Spike praised them both and she lightly prodded him with her toes. "Compliments to the lady." He doffed an imaginary cap.

"And to the vamp." Buffy conceded easily.

"You up for thirds sometime?" Spike followed her out of the room as she limped away towards her own.

"Thirds like the first or second round?"

"Hmm. Got plenty in between. And at both ends of the spectrum." Spike licked his lips.

She looked back at him, uncertain. "Spike..."

"I know. It's not gonna be a regular thing is it?"

"It's weird. Doing it with someone you don't like. I mean, love. I mean- you."

"True." It was. When he was a few inches away from her silky body, his senses reminded him that there was such a thing as dulling the ache, and then there was creating a whole new one. The two of them never could be more than the most casual of bedfellows. There for each other when mutually convenient. And mutually convenient could rapidly lead to mutually inconvenient, start the whole bloody cycle of fighting all over again. Odd as it was- Spike didn't want to fight this girl anymore. He'd bagged his third slayer. His shoulders pulled back and he pulled fresher air into his lungs.

_I survived. I survived you, Dru, and survived a duel to the death with her. I took my third slayer, had her on her knees, had her face to the wall, had her under me- begging. Of course, she was wanting more, not mercy, but begging is begging and it's the third jewel in my crown. Thrice the Slayer of Slayers, a new conquest. Big Bad. Rule Breaker. William the Bloody Smythe. _He gloated inside his head as he watched her swaying ahead of him. _I looked death in the eye, Dru, and I took it to bed with me. _

It was all brashness and braggadocio. He shrugged mentally. It wasn't like the pain was gone. It wasn't like he would no longer be alone, as in without his one and only. At the moment though, he was feeling confident in his ability to get through it, not cave under it.

_I'll always need you, Dru. But I can survive without you. I don't have to have you around to keep lovin' you. Whether you return it or not, it'll hurt or not hurt, it doesn't matter so much. I get can by without you, Princess. I don't need anyone around._ Buffy paused in the door of her bedroom closet, scanning for clothes. He surveyed the figure he was becoming oddly fond of. _Doesn't mean I don't _want_ someone around. For now._

_I could be a loner. She could be, too. We could be loners, together. Jus' for now. _

_But I could be king, couldn't I? Single handedly, or with an army of vamps, like in the old days. If I wanted. Because once you face down your worst enemy- the ones inside your head and that oddly undefeatable one who's moaning over a ripped up teeshirt- you can do it all. D'you hear that, Princess? I am a bloody immortal, a master vampire, not dependent on you. I am immortal thanks to your gift- but it's mine to keep, with or without you. _

"You're standing there with a really obnoxious smile on your face, Spike." Buffy was tempted to go close the door in his face.

"More obnoxious than usual, Pet?" He winked.

"Oh boy." She laughed and pulled out her suitcase, hoping maybe she'd left some clothes in there from when she'd moved. She hadn't been much for organizing and prettying things up, not in her mindset.

"Well, you're smilin' yourself." He pointed out.

"I feel... good. Wow." She blinked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt purely good. Since before Angel. Since before slaying. Not that she felt purely happy, but- _good_.

"Understand, Luv. Understand completely." He stayed leaning on the doorway, strutting in his head if outwardly still. He felt the best he had in months, the best he had even before Sunnydale. "Feel pretty good m'self." The _Highlander _theme started playing in his head, although he was smugly altering it to suit himself. _Better than princes of the universe, I could be king. I can be ruler of you all- no man can be my equal- I have no rival... Damn Sunday afternoon telly and all the repeats. _He smiled at his cocky, puffed up attitude, knowing it was the post-shag bliss talking, the sheer relief of being even slightly happy after nothing but heartbreak. But he liked it. He was high on it. He swaggered inside. _I am undefeated. I am fearless, 'cause I've dealt with my fears. _

"Mr. Smythe? Ms. Smith? It's Ed Carlsby!" A thumping on the door accompanied by a soft wheezing cry made them both jump.

_Except for that sudden little flash of panic_. So much for fearless, thought Spike in a rush before Buffy was hissing at him.

"Oh my God! The apartment, look at the living room, he's going to kill us!" The furniture had survived, thanks to Spike's earlier considerations, but the walls... well, at least this time they'd had more room to fight so they'd stayed in the center for a lot of the battle.

"Someone must've complained about the noise this time. Shit!" Spike hissed back.

"Are you two okay?" The wheezing call became a louder shout.

"Just a minute!" They called in unison, heads turning to the door, then frantically back to each other.

"Clothes!" Spike shoved her back to her bedroom.

"But my laundry-"

"Put the soddin' towel on!" He snapped

"It's in _your_ room!" She slapped his shoulder. That had been what she was trying to say. "How do we explain this? Did you see that big shoulder chuck hole by the window?" She squeaked. Spike tugged his jeans on, just his jeans, because he knew the super would be getting antsy and he had a key.

"Keep the lights off, and we'll stand in the doorway."

"What if he wants to come in?"

"I can bite him. I'd hate to really, but-"

"Spike!" She tied the towel tightly and gave him an irritated, panicked look.

"Well, what do you want me to do!"

"I don't know! We'll say- we were- um..."

"Oh, yes, that's a brilliant cover story." He said sarcastically.

"We're _so _never getting our security deposits back." She moaned, and tied the towel tightly around herself.

"Just let me do the talking. Ed an' I see each other around on occasion. He likes me."

"How is that possible?" Se whispered doubtfully, following him to the door.

"I can be very charming." He whispered back saucily, hurrying forward. "Anyway, not so far-fetched, is it? _You_ like me, don't you?" She didn't say anything. "Question withdrawn." He sighed and pulled open the door, just enough to stick his head through. "Evenin' Ed. Can I help you?"

"Will." The building manager greeted him gravely. "Now, it happened the first night you moved in, and I ignored it, because I know how it is when new people meet and you're unpacking and moving furniture. It gets loud, people may be arguing about what goes where and who gets what room... But I have a rule. The second time I get noise complaint phone calls, I'll speak to someone about it. And I have to tell you, I got ten phone calls tonight. I have _never_ gotten that many calls! From three different floors, too, now that's-"

Buffy couldn't take it anymore. "We're really sorry!" She blurted from her spot behind the partially opened door.

"Ms. Smith?" Ed blinked, and gave Spike a confused look. "You okay?"

Spike opened the door more, urging Buffy over with a tug at her arm, so they continued to block the view of the dark apartment.

Mr. Carlsby stared. Blushing, downcast face, wearing a towel. Will in his jeans- not buttoned, just zipped. And the dark apartment. But what clinched it was the half-smile on the young man's face. Looked like his woman trouble was over. Ed smiled in spite of himself. "Told you it would get better, didn't I, Son?"

"That you did, Ed, and you were right." Spike slid an arm around Buffy's waist.

Buffy's eyes popped, but she plastered a tight smile on her face.

"Alright. Consider this a warning. I know how- well. I know. I wasn't always an old geezer." Ed winked, and Spike chuckled. Buffy's smile became genuine. "Next time- you two keep it down!"

"Yes, sir." Spike saluted.

"Have a good night, then. I'm sure you will." Mr. Carlsby turned and trudged off. "By the way- the elevator's out again." He turned to fix them with a stern glare. "You have no idea how long it takes an old man like me to do eleven flights! So keep it to a dull roar. If I have to come back up before the repair man gets here, it just might kill me."

"Wouldn't want that." Spike waved, "See you tomorrow, Ed!"

"Night now."

Spike shut the apartment door and as one, he and Buffy let out breaths they'd been holding and sagged in relief against the now closed door. They quickly pulled apart as well. "That was close."

"He thinks we had crazy loud sex!" Buffy looked mildly offended.

"We did."

"Oh. We did, didn't we?" She scooted herself up and flicked on the light switch. The illuminated room looked worse than she'd thought.

"I don't care if he thinks we were doing heavy metal ballet." Spike looked around, counting the new gouges and outright holes in the wall. "I'm just glad he didn't see this!"

"Ditto." Buffy was walking, staring at the carpet, looking for blood stains. Only a few this time. "We saved the furniture."

"_Who_ saved it?" Spike cupped a hand behind his ear.

"_You _saved it." She rolled her eyes. "I feel terrible. Eleven flights up and back- well that explains why he just got here now. He's not that old, I wonder why he-"

"Wheezes all the time? Chronic mild emphysema. Used to smoke."

"Those things'll kill ya." Buffy grabbed one of the arm chairs out of the kitchen area and started carrying it back.

"If you're not already dead, sure." Spike grinned and walked over to the fridge, picking up his wallet and the order pad. "Twenty three gouges, four big holes. How much spackle do you think that'd be?"

"It took three cans to do the last fight."

"So I'll say six and two dry wall kits."

"Another can of touch up paint. Geez, Spike, maybe we just better repaint this whole room..." _Maybe we better just rebuild the walls... _

"Damn. I'll have to ask how much it takes to do a room."

"Get those sheet things and some tape. Yeah, Mom told me you have to have tape to do the trim." She didn't even realize she spoke of her mother without all the angst normally associated with her. It just slipped out. No guilt. Just getting on with life.

"That's in places where the trim is a different color, Luv. Here we just splash it on." He added another line to the list. "Rollers and brushes. We out of rug cleaner?"

"No, but we need paper towels." She peered over his shoulder as he made the list, murmuring softly more to herself, "I need a new shirt and some pants after this. I mean, I seriously need to shop." Buffy cocked her head inquisitively as she realized what she'd heard pass her lips. _What a very un-Anne thing to say. Hm. I am Buffy "at home". Buffy's not so terrible. Sometimes terrible things happen, but sometimes they come to an end, too._

It would never go away, the missing him. The loss, the pain, the guilt. All there. But once you let go of a little piece- you start to let go a little more and a little more. She guessed it was like someone who'd kept their head down for a long time. They'd only see the ground, but if they looked up, even for a second, they'd know there was more to see, and they'd keep wanting these little glimpses of the world. Letting go was like that. Once she gave herself permission to let go of one small piece, another small piece could follow. Thinking she needed clothes in this case wasn't so much a luxury, or the urge to shop as it was a genuine need, but it was a nice reminder. Reminder she had enjoyed little things about life once. There was something out there to like about living.

"Oi! Buffy!" Spike has said something to her several times and all the girl did was stare thoughtfully at nothing.

"Hm?"

"I said, 'Why don't you put on your least dirty togs and we'll hit the hardware store, then get to the shops?' I could use a few things myself. And then, what d'you think, pizza?" Spike tossed on casually.

"Pizza?" Buffy blinked.

"You said it was your favorite."

"It is."

"Well, as long as we get it to go and say no garlic- let's pick up one. We're gonna be up 'til God knows when fixin' this." He turned in a slow circle, mentally calculating the amount of time it'd take, even for a now master wall repairman. When he turned back, Buffy was inches from him. He jumped slightly. "Sneaky thing." He muttered.

"I do sorta like you." Buffy smiled up at him, almost affectionately.

He smiled back and let his hand brush her arm. "Sorta like you, too." He said with a similar type of look.

Buffy's chest felt tight with an unexpected reaction to his touch, his nearness. It was unfamiliar and she was still figuring out how to handle it. "I- I can't go out like this. Last time I looked this bad you told someone I was a mud wrestler."

Spike laughed gleefully, "You were so brassed off. Hey!" She prodded him in the ribs. "Healing!"

"Then don't piss me off." She let her hand linger on his chest for a moment. It had felt good to be held by him tonight, particularly on their second attempt. Slow, steady, embracing in one way or another the whole time. Not loving each other. Just close to each other. She liked being close, at least to one person. It had been such a long time of being alone and empty, inside empty, outside empty. "I better go clean up."

"Yeah. S'pose I better, too. You go first."

"No, you go ahead."

"Nah, you take longer."

"I have more hair." She said with a note of apology in her voice.

"I like it." He tentatively took the end of one tangled piece between his thumb and forefinger and teased it.

There was that hot rush in her middle again. The ache to be held and hold and maybe the world would be livable again someday, if good things could keep happening. Like not dying, and finding someone who'd go to the mall and grab a pizza with you. Someone who could live with you without expecting you to be a hero, who knew you were really a miserable mess a lot of the time, and liked you anyway. "Thanks."

"Welcome. Now- go." He shoved her forward gently. "That hardware store is open late, but malls don't usually go past ten."

"Right. We better hurry." She seized his hand suddenly.

"Christ, Buffy!" He yelped.

"Oops!" Wrong hand.

He sucked at the back of his skin as she let it go. "What were you pullin' at me for?"

"Time saving." She nodded to the shower inviting him, surprising herself. _Maybe I don't know how to handle it. But finding out won't hurt. No, all things considered, nothing about him hurts me. _

His face lit up, painful hand forgotten. "Do I get to use your tropical vanilla shampoo?" He teased and ducked past her.

"Just this once!" She relented, hurrying after him.

"Aww. C'mon. I'll scrub your back." He wheedled.

"Get your own bottle if you're so crazy about it!"

She got in front of him again and he lightly grabbed her, his semi-hard cock nudging her cheeks as he whispered, "I'll scrub anything you want..."

Buffy shuddered as her insides squirmed happily and let out a tiny moan. "I really, _really_ kinda like you." She pulled him into the bathroom behind her.

_To be continued..._


	13. Chapter 13

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: Things can't be all blood and roses, folks. _

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, Babe Ruthless, BabyFaith18, Blade Redwind, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, EvelynFerusons, Cavementftw, Lil-Leti, Seapea, Jackiemack916, Maire Ailbhe, MaryZaa, Jewel74, Lyzzybelle, jmoran319, the madara's little sister, and Rachel._

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part XIII**

"Buffy. Buffy." Spike shook her shoulder gently.

"Hmm?"

"You have to get to work, Baby." He sat on the edge of her bed. He momentarily released her shoulder when he heard the term of affection slip out. It wasn't said with his usual flippancy, he'd meant it with genuine fondness.

"Nu-uh." Buffy curled tighter into a ball.

"You want me to drive you?" His hand returned to the soft, peach-toned shoulder.

"Nnnn." She rolled away from his prodding hand.

"You stayed up too late, you stubborn bint."

Buffy blinked. "Spike?"

"Who else?" He muttered.

"Is it morning?"

"Just past six."

She sat up hurriedly. She rubbed her sleep creased face and blinked blearily. "How did I get in here? Wasn't I-"

"Falling asleep face down in the pizza box? Yeah. Oh. You got a little pepperoni on your cheek." He reached over and flicked it off.

Buffy ran her fingertips over her face. White sticky stuff came off on her nail. Spackle. Or drywall patch adhesive. "I fell asleep eating pizza?"

"You went down fighting, still had sandpaper in one hand." He teased.

"Did you go out?" Buffy wincingly stood up.

"Nope. Didn't go to bed either." Too many thoughts buzzing around in his head. "Gonna crash if you don't need me to drive you."

"You shouldn't go out. Sunshine." Buffy started pulling off her crusty shirt- then paused. "Uh- I'm gonna go scrub off real quick." She put the shirt back down and turned to walk from the room.

"Okay." He rose as well, back to the living room, back to sanding. _And as soon as she leaves, I'm sleepin'. And tonight- I'm huntin'. In Beverly Hills. This place is costing me a fortune. Or rather, my roommate is._ He smiled after her, as she prepared to shut the bathroom door._ Not that I mind really._

They parted ways, awkward smiles darting to each other.

Buffy took off her shirt and pants and grabbed a wash cloth. No time for a shower, just remove any repair-related debris from her face and skin and ungh. From her hair. It wasn't like she needed another shower. She'd just had one late last night.

With Spike. A shower that was definitely full of intense soaping and cleaning- and...

Her mind took a trip backwards, water flowing unheeded over her hands as they sat frozen in the sink.

_Last night. _

Hand between her legs. Her folds. A tense gasp, "What are you-"

"What?" His fingers rubbing and sliding insistently over her slightly swollen bead.

"Um. Umm. Mmmmm." She gave up her questions. No one, including herself, had ever so deliberately and skillfully pleasured her.

"Like it?" She nodded and arched back. "I just figured since I was down there..." He held in a chuckle, and then found it vanished anyway. She was so strong, strong enough to end him, and instead she was hanging half way over his arm, writhing and her legs closed around his hand.

Buffy was surprised when the pace changed, shifted, her half bent posture straightened. Spike was holding her up, back to his chest, the side of his face pressed to hers. "Relax. No more pain. Not from this. Not between us."

_How did he always know what was in her mind? _"You keep saying the right things." She murmured shakily.

"So do you." He swallowed, stroking her gently now, playfulness on temporary leave. "It's not easy when it's not 'them'. But I dunno. Find it pretty easy with you."

She turned. "Me, too."

They'd kissed. Then, somehow, he was inside her, lifting her up, more of a prolonged hug than a sexual exchange, even though they ended up intimately engaged.

* * *

Buffy was brought back to reality by the water going icy. "Crud." She muttered and scrubbed hastily. No time to daydream.

No. Daydreaming was okay. For the first time since leaving home, when her mind wandered, it didn't head to dark places. Being close to someone hadn't lead to a dark place either. No one hurt, no one dead, no one throwing her out, nothing bad.

* * *

Spike was surprised when a hand rubbed lightly across his shoulder as he was sanding the patches on the walls. "Hey there."

"Hey. Have a good day."

"You, too."

_Oh geez. The notepad was easier. _Buffy smiled, made a false start at walking away, just as Spike made a false start at bending to kiss her.

"Oh!" Buffy blushed.

"I thought you-" He backed up.

"No, I- I was trying-" She gave up, stood on her toes and darted her head forward to buss his cheek. "Bye."

"Bye." Spike watched her leave, startled hand on his cheek. Sweet. She could be quite sweet. And destructive. He put down the sandpaper and walked to his room. _Need some sleep. Busy day yesterday. That fight...all the housework. Exhausted._

He fell onto the bed with a soft groan. He hadn't been this tired in months, yet it wasn't the "lost the will to live" type of exhaustion he had grown accustomed to. He was trying to place the feeling as he tossed about on the mattress, looking for a comfortable spot on the lumpy bed.

Her scent brushed him. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Juices. Hints of fear and a body cocktail of hormones.

He smirked as he fell asleep. _Ah yes._ Shagged out. Worn out. Happy, well worn, well exercised, well used muscles, tests of stamina and endurance... What a good tired it was.

* * *

"Good morning." Buffy hung up her purse and tied on her apron.

Silence greeted her, that and some clattering of pans and cries of "Put on another pot of decaf! And get the creamers out to the counter!"

"Hi." Tim, Pedro, and Dana greeted her, finally.

Buffy smiled and tucked her pen behind her ear. "Busy?"

"Usual." Dana managed to say. Buffy nodded and trotted out.

Her co-workers exchanged glances. "That was weird." Dana said, picking up two plates of sausage and eggs.

"What's weird?" Asked a new waiter.

"Anne. She's worked here for months. This is the first time she's ever said hi to anyone when she gets in."

"Wonder what got into her?"

No one knew her well enough to ask, and she wouldn't have told them anyway. She said good morning when she came in, she said goodnight around 6:00 on her way out, and sometimes throughout the day- the girl in the mask was actually seen to smile.

* * *

Buffy smiled in relief when she finally reached her door. She'd trudged up the eleventh flight, tired out but feeling different than she had previously. Tired as usual, but a different kind of tired. The day hadn't been an exercise in slogging through as much work as possible, in a carefully crafted fog designed to keep the world out and her misery locked in. Today, her mind still found a hundred reminders of her lost lover. A broad shouldered man with the same shade of brown hair. The delivery of the Southern Los _Angeles_ Area phone book. The sight of a young couple holding hands over their coffee cups. It stabbed her in the heart that she didn't have that man, the man who'd once bore a similar name, the love of her life who held her hand. She would never have that man, that love again. She had been widowed without ever being a bride.

But there were a few seconds when something managed to pull a smile to her face. She would never have that lost love back. But she could go home and there would be someone in the same position waiting for her. Or not. It didn't matter if he was there, physically. He was just sort of around. Oddly enough, there for her when she needed him, without her ever realizing she had the need.

Weird. But nice.

He was gone. The walls were ready to paint, patchy but smooth. There was a note propped up on the television so she'd see it in the center back wall of the room.

_Do NOT paint without me. You'll screw it up or spill or something. I don't even know if we can replace carpeting. Eat something. Watch _Babe.

Buffy wrote back, out of habit, not because she doubted she'd get the chance to talk to him soon. But it made her smile anyway, the act of snarking on paper.

_Don't you paint without me either! You'll probably drop your lighter in it and blow up the place. Is paint flammable?_

She paused. _Hope you got some rest today. See you later._

* * *

He came in much later. Two or three, he'd lost track. His pockets bulged with goodies tonight. He'd finally had a nice piece of luck. Stumbled out of an alley sewer line and into a drug deal. Dealers had lots of money and they'd never want to involve the police. Also- they usually thought they were pretty tough. The Slayer wouldn't mind if he'd killed someone pumping the air full of bullets- would she?

He decided not to tell her about that part. Besides, they were all alive when he left. Now, if they didn't want to go to the hospital and get asked embarrassing questions about how and why they'd managed to get shot or beaten to a pulp- that was on them.

He took off his coat and hastily started sorting out the money and whatever else he'd picked up. Two top shelf bottles of single malt, more cigs, a revolver, a pistol, single stack magazine, cash, cash, cash. Just under a grand, bless their felonious hearts. He took all of it into his room and then hesitated in the hall.

Get a drink, or check in on her?

His conundrum was decided for him. Buffy called softly, "Spike?"

"Yeah, it's me!" He cleared his throat and prepared to tap on the door. She was pushing it open before he could even get his fingers to the wood. "Hey."

"Hey. Good night?"

"Drug dealers. Rent is set." He smiled broadly. "Good day?"

"Yeah. Someone left me a five dollar tip."

"Ooh, big spender. Flash him a little leg, did you?"

"No!" She socked his arm lightly.

The air suddenly became tense, not casual, not teasing, not were close. They touched. It was dark and it was tempting. What do you do when you enjoy someone, but you don't love them, when you know it doesn't go anywhere? Then again, you've only just realized that "not going anywhere" isn't how it's supposed to be. Purgatory had a door and they finally found it.

Neither knew when that door would open, or where it would lead. Just because they were waking up to the world, didn't mean they wanted to go dive back into it.

But they seemed to know things had begun to change for them. Things might keep changing.

"I-I should go. Go get another hour or two of sleep. Zombie isn't a good look on me." Buffy stammered.

"Right then. I'll- I'll uh, help you paint tonight."

"You don't have to go out?"

"Well, there's blood in the fridge. There's money in the wallet. Don't have to. Unless you want the place to yourself."

"No! No, I didn't mean that."

A slow, uncertain smile. "See you tonight."

* * *

"This is not how I wanted to spend my night."

"You wanted to help paint. I have written proof this time."

"Have you ever painted anything- ever- in your life?" Spike spat paint and blinked angrily.

"My nails?" Buffy held out a towel and he grabbed it angrily.

"Airhead." He muttered.

"I don't even know why you're so mad." She tried not to laugh."It's only a couple shades lighter- no, don't!" A wet brush smacked her across the face. She grabbed the towel off his head. Of course, all that did was smear both of them further.

"You were supposed to hold the chair steady." He growled, hand tentatively fluffing his hair and and coming back coated in white.

"Y'know, I don't think you can blame me for this poor chair finally dying." Buffy crossed her arms. "We kicked the crap out of it."

"Well..." He said sulkily. He was ready to sigh and let it go when she giggled. His eyes turned venomous. "Did you just laugh?"

"No." She snorted, her laughter escaping through her nose because she was clamping her lips so tightly. He attacked her with the brush again. "Stop, stop!" She giggled.

"Then stop laughing!"

"I can't help it!" She cried, sinking back. "You- you just went over the edge and then splash- whooop!" She made a trail with her finger into the air. "Splat!" She mimicked a shot of paint flying from the bucket to land on the vampire's head and splash his face.

"You want splat? I'll give you splat." He patted the brush menacingly against his palm.

"Don't try it. I can kick your butt." She curled her fists, semi-concerned she'd need them.

"Don't try it. Remember what happened the last time you tried?" He raised an eyebrow.

They blinked. Well. That had led to a suddenly unexpected thought. Both of them shifted, nervous or uncertain. Or maybe a little bit aroused.

"We got messy?" Buffy finally attempted a comeback.

Sudden thoughts of making her genuinely messy were invading his brain. Spike looked both horrified and hungry. _Where did that come from? Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Buffy wasn't that kind of- oh bloody hell, she was so surprising and she- she did have unexpected qualities._ "We did." He nodded and croaked out.

"Um." Buffy's voice was tight and an octave too high. "Paint stains. We should get these clothes off. I mean in the laundry!"

Spike groaned and turned away- putting his head on the wall. Which was still wet. "Sod it! God, I'm a mess, what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing. Well, a lot, but nothing here!" Buffy tugged him away, towards the shower. "C'mon. Shampoo. You can use mine if that makes you happy." She cajoled.

"It's not just the paint." He shifted uncomfortably.

She knew that. She was having similar, curious thoughts. "If we're in the shower- we might as well just keep getting messy, right? It washes off."

"What does?" His eyes suddenly sparked with mischief.

She turned rose red. "Paint?"

"We're painting in the shower are we?" He teased.

"Spike... Don't." Her stomach twisted in a combination of desire and feelings of guilt and impropriety.

"You're right. I won't." He slid his wet hand through hers and they trailed to the bathroom. "You're a sweet girl."

"I'm not." She shrugged sadly.

"You are. You are, even_ I_ can see it."

Clothes came off. Water on. Lights off.

Her soft protest, "I get my hands dirty. Blood. Grease. Whatever."

Paused. Trying to warn her they were not exactly in the same league. That they were probably not thinking the same way. "I'm not sweet like you. I'm a bad man, remember?"

"I know. But I still like you."

"See? Sweet." In they went, water, soap, shampoo scrubbing. Bumping. His hint. "Parts of you are particularly sweet. An' make marvelous messes."

"Uh-huh." High and breathless. In the dark, she felt him slide down, felt him hook one of her knees over his shoulder, his head bump her tender stomach and then a tongue swirling and dipping between her thighs. Lower. In her opening. "Oh God." She felt like she was going to blackout, her eyes seemed to be pulling loose from so much rolling back in pleasure.

"It's good. It's s'posed to feel like this. Let it go. Remember. You like lettin' go with me."

So she did. She messed him up, messed herself up. According to Spike, it was delicious. It was ambrosia.

In the dark, she shakily found her feet, and then her knees.

"What are you doing?" She couldn't be. Oh, he would love it if she was. She would be beyond sweet if she was, satisfying one of his unspoken desires.

"I'm not really sure. I don't think it's as messy, but it could be." She laughed in nervous tension, then stroked a hand around him. In a second he felt something soft and pouting mouthing him.

"Ohhhh. Ohhh, you're a wonderful, wonderful girl." He sighed and bucked, more into her mouth.

"Really? I'm doing it right?" She returned to her new task.

"Oh yes. Don't do it for long though." He warned.

"Why?" Mouth popped off again and she looked up at him with a puzzled frown.

"Messes?" He offered. _Because I'll cum all over your face or in your mouth and you'll bite me and choke and sputter and I'll feel bad. You call me a bastard and we'll fight and I've no idea how you replace ceramic tile. We might punch through to the plumbing and we'll flood the joint and- ooh. _Thoughts left. Her mouth worked him effortlessly. "You done this before?" He gasped out.

"Nope." She liked doing this though, doing it for him, returning the favor. Plus, it was nice making him as wobbly and gaspy as he'd made her.

"See, you are natural. Okay. Okay, that's enough." He insisted, feeling his loins tighten alarmingly as she not only sucked him, but ran her hands lightly up and down his lower back.

"I just started! You did- a lot more." _You made me cum three times! How does he do that? Is that normal? Who cares? If it's above average, I'll so take it._ She stubbornly sank back down.

"But if you... oh, _fuck_."

"Instead of this?" She popped her head back up.

He seized on that idea. "Want to?"

"Up to you."

"Oh, hell, Buffy." He lifted her up and pulled her close. They laughed softly, nose to nose in the dark, melding together, pleasing each other, contented in a way they didn't know existed.

He carried her back to her room, and somehow, the laughing, touching, and playing continued. Soon they were tangled in her sheets, bumping the squeaky bed against the wall with hammer like taps for what seemed like hours but was much less.

Then they fell to their respective sides. This should be the time they got back up, went to clean up, went their separate ways. Instead, he murmured something and shifted onto his side- then he fell asleep. Buffy considered waking him. Memories of another man, another smooth, cool back she'd cuddled up beside, just once, made tears sting her eyes.

_It'd be nice to wake up with the same man you went to bed with. Not have him run off, not have him suddenly be- hey bonus, Spike's already an evil soulless jerk. Since when is that a bonus? I'm a mess._ She laughed sleepily to herself. No shockers to wake up to. She nuzzled tentatively close to him, and muffled a cry when he rolled and hugged her to him with a flutter of eyelids.

"Warm." He kissed the side of her eye absently. "Lovely."

"Thanks." Should she say more?

He was already asleep. She slowly, thoughtfully laid her head to his shoulder and let slumber steal over her. She felt the best she had in so long.

She knew something was missing. She didn't care right now.

* * *

The next week or so seemed to pass with the same sort of half cautious, half care free attitude. Some nights they got physical, some nights they didn't. Once he slept in her bed. Usually he was out while she was home and vice versa. Things were- comfortable.

_Can you do the sheets in my room?_

_Pick up laundry soap._

_ Got it. Anything else?_

_ Shopping tonight? You're living on peanut butter and no-peach peach pie again. _

_ Am not. But yes, shopping._

* * *

_ Dinner Thursday?_

_ You want me to go someplace with you or you want me to cook or - what do you mean, 'dinner'?_

_ Wings._

_ Yes._

* * *

_ It's Ed's birthday today and I just found out._

_ I'll get a card._

_ You're a saint, Slayer. _

"It's Buffy!" She shouted when she came home. "I've got your card!"

Spike poked his head out of the kitchen. "I know who it is. No one else comes in." He shook his head.

"I meant you called me that other name again."

"Sorry. Slipped out."

"I forgive you this time. Vamp." She tossed him the card and yawned. "I'm going to go wash the bacon smell out of my hair."

"Good show. I'm staying in."

"Really?"

"Got enough money, got enough blood." Life seemed to lack challenges at the moment. But it had its peaceful compensations. "I got new movies- and before you say anything, Kim lent 'em to me in exchange for ours. We'll swap back next week."

"Oooh, what'd we get? Do we have any popcorn left?" Buffy asked eagerly.

"Yes, popcorn, but no bowls."

"We'll have to share the bag." She unbuttoned her uniform and leaned in the doorway, waiting.

"We got _Caddyshack, Christmas Story, Little Mermaid,_ and _Out of Africa_."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Kim has interesting taste in movies, doesn't she?"

"Think they were her mother's before she passed. Oh, except for the _Little Mermaid_, that's her daughter's."

"Kim has kids? I didn't know that." Buffy stepped out of the uniform.

"She did. Lost custody and hasn't seen them in a few years. It's killin' her."

Buffy undid her braid and hurried into the bathroom. "Put in _Caddyshack_." She called softly over her shoulder.

She scrubbed the seemingly semi-permanent greasy diner smell out of her hair and tried very hard not to wonder if her mother missed her. She simultaneously tried not to miss her mother. If you get told not to come back- well, her mom wasn't exactly the queen of listening and compromising. So she must mean it. She told her she was disappointed in her, for her "bad choices", for Angel, for having sex. Now for being a "slayer", like she could choose it. Like she had known Angel would-

Tears mixed with the water on her face. It didn't matter anymore.

Only no matter how often she said it, it still did.

* * *

That night she sat in Spike's lap and they argued over popcorn and laughed at stupid things in the movie. They began kissing at the credits, and it spilled over into touching, then undressing, then into her bedroom. When he was done, when he was still inside, she whispered, "Can you stay here?"

"Sure." They lay in silence for awhile, uncoupled but close. "What's wrong, Luv?" He asked finally, aware she was feigning sleep, eyes close, but her heart was fluttering along like mad.

"Do you think my mom would ever forgive me?" She finally asked in a tremulous murmur.

"I don't think she has a damn thing to forgive." He said firmly.

She felt a surge of comforted happiness when he defended her so quickly and decisively. Yet she pressed, "She probably thinks she has _lots_ to forgive."

Spike's voice was faraway, yet oddly clear and matter of fact, as if he was saying something he believed with all his heart. "I believe your mum can forgive you anything. I know she can. She had to know."

"Know what?"

"That it wasn't what you wanted to do. Have happen. Had to know you thought you didn't have a choice."

"I didn't." She murmured, huddling nearer to him. He was wrapping his arms just as tightly around her.

"I know we didn't." He nodded against her hair. The use of "we" did not go unnoticed. Buffy knew how much his choices about their first truce had affected his life. She had no idea what else he was recalling.

Ten minutes passed. They remained locked together, arms around, lying on sides. "I can't sleep."

"Me, either." He raked his hair frustratedly.

"I feel- empty sometimes. When I miss people. I got so good at not feeling, not thinking. Still..."

"Know what you mean." He hardly drank at all now. His brain didn't rely on alcohol induced stupor to get through the day. He depended on his odd little bunch of human friends, his soaps. This girl with her warm cheek on his chest. "Hrm." He cleared his throat. "Care to tire each other out?"

"It doesn't always tire me out. It usually makes my legs feel like wet spaghetti, but I still feel awake." She said truthfully. Half-truthfully. Sometimes it exhausted her and sometimes it didn't.

"Maybe we haven't been_ athletic _enough." His voice turned from brittle and wakeful to slippery and suggestive.

"What do you have in mind?" Her own voice slid down into a near sultry tone she'd never heard herself use.

"Honestly- I thought we'd just keep doin' it until we couldn't move anymore."

She considered. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

_ Have a good day. You looked "shagged out" so I didn't want to wake you. Plus- daylight. My legs are still doing the spaghetti thing. Can I have a ride home tonight? I'll work until seven and if you don't show for some reason, I'll just walk._

He threw the now completely used note pad in the trash. Course he'd show! Honestly, the silly chit. He could sympathize, his own legs- and some other appendages, were worn out as well. He looked at the clock. Bloody hell, almost six! He hadn't slept a full day since before Prague. He ran a comb through his hair, shoved himself in his clothes and hurried from the flat.

* * *

"Hey. That black car is outside." Pedro said.

"What black car?" Kate asked, laying out a new supply of roach traps along the kitchen floor.

"Anne's guy."

"Tell her, not us. It's the dinner rush, for gosh sakes, everyone move it! Tim, d'you want to burn someone else! Look what you're doing with that pan!"

"I need this steak done some more. It's too pink in the middle." Buffy came back in with one of her customer's plates. "And John says we need more change." She added as she skidded back out.

"Anne, that guy's car is here." Pedro repeated.

"Huh?"

"Your ride."

"I'm working until seven, so he'll just have to wait." Buffy twitched slightly, a little happy, a little apprehensive. She didn't like people intruding on her private life. She also felt like her co-worker was being nosy. Looking down the block, like he was scoping out surrounding areas for her ride. With a muted, annoyed sigh she went out, assured her steak customer that her dinner would be back shortly, and moved to the next table.

"Hi, can I take your order?" Buffy didn't look up, she put her pen to paper with practiced disinterest, her "don't be seen, don't see, no one'll find you" mentality which was fading but still prevalent.

"Yeah, what's edible tonight, besides the waitress?" A husky, amused voice asked.

Buffy dropped her pen and stifled a shriek. "Spike!" she hissed, "What are you doing here?"

"Pickin' you up. Only thought I'd come in an' grab somethin'. Probably-" He sprawled back, one leg up on the seat, black leather coat pooling about him, James Deans' undead brother, "the only one in here who can survive the food with no consequences to m'health."

"Not if I send you out a large order of garlic bread." She pushed his boot to the floor with a thump. "And don't light up!" She added sternly as he pulled out his lighter.

"Take it easy- Anne." He remembered her cover at the last second. "I'll leave if you like."

She sighed. "No. No... sorry I flipped. But- don't - I mean, can you maybe warn me first? If you do it again?"

"I won't do it again. Look, I'm gonna go have a smoke." He pulled a twenty from his pocket and slipped it into her apron's hip pocket with a too familiar gleam in his eye. "Meet me at the car? We'll go get something properly digestible. Place where they serve pies with actual fruit in them."

She half- hoisted him by his arm pushing the twenty back in his hand. "You don't owe me a tip if I didn't serve you."

"Oh, but maybe I'd like take out. May I?" He batted his lashes at her.

"Take out? Oh,_ me_. I get it." She rolled her eyes. "That's so corny."

"That proves it. I'm losin' my edge." He groused, but didn't seem too mad.

"But really sweet."

"So, you up for it?"

"Why don't we use what's in the fridge? I just wanna get home anyway."

"Ohh." He looked knowingly at her.

"No, idiot, because the blood's here." Buffy whispered. That was the primary reason. There were other "nice" things at home, but he didn't need to think she was becoming some nympho.

"Right. Car's out back, on this street this time. See you in a bit."

"Be out soon." She squeezed his hand and made sure he looked in her eyes, a silent message of "I _am_ glad to see you." passing to him. He nodded, small smile on his lips. He made his way to the front and she bustled off to the back.

* * *

Spike kicked himself as he exited. What in the world was wrong with him? Trying to joke with her, be sweet to her... He wasn't acting like himself, nor was he acting like he wanted to act for a paramour. It was because she didn't fit his mind. A woman that he lived with and slept with should be the love of his life, the core of his being. Buffy was his- _oh bugger, just admit it-_ friend. He pointedly ignored any little internal shouts that he was deluding himself about her. No, he ignored the hints that he cared for her, loved to see her happy, missed her when they were apart, enjoyed spending time with her, relaxed with her, could really talk to her, talk to her like equals. He knew his own version of an ideal relationship. Dark, hot, passionate, bloodlust, and ordinary lust, an almost worship of a goddess, making him the knight and protector, his lover's acolyte.

He'd missed that. His life wasn't complete without that depth of emotion. He was happy with Buffy around him, but she wasn't truly "with him". They were living together, but they didn't have a_ life _together.

He didn't know how to make a life with her, a life that was full and rich, without the empty spaces. Without real love. He was love's bitch, love's slave. Love was supposed to burn and scream inside you until it got what it wanted. His blood never burned for her, never ached for her. He supposed that he shouldn't even consider it, not waste too much thoughts on the whys and why nots. His life must be meant for someone else.

_Or maybe you won't burn until you're far enough away from her to feel the pain, maybe your blood won't scream until you make it hurt. Either way, _he slid into the car, _whatever needs to happen next- isn't happening here._

* * *

"I'm out of here." Buffy tried to discreetly make her way to the freezer, pick up her weekly shipment. Tim stopped her.

"I saw him. Technically Dana saw him and then she told me, but, whatever. She said he came in?"

"Oh, my roommate? Yeah. He just- um- wanted to tell me he was waiting." Buffy shut the freezer and stood against it, sending very loud 'please go away now' vibes.

Didn't work. "I thought he was moving out. Or you were. You weren't going to be roommates anymore." Tim wiped his forehead. He wanted that to happen. He wanted that guy to have no more association with his job, no more reason to ever be near him again. That guy radiated attitude and some weird kind of "I'd just love to hurt you" feeling, such menace when he'd called him out as the one who'd hurt Anne. Tim shivered. It was almost like he wasn't human. Or maybe Tim only felt like that because he knew Anne's roommate certainly wanted to hurt him personally.

"Yeah. I- we changed plans. For now. No one moved. Yet." _Yet? Like I'm waiting for it to happen, for one of us to move on?_ She watched Tim walk off and snuck her box from the freezer, realizing what she'd just thought. Move _on_. Not move_ out._

_Why would I want to "move on"? I'm finally coping and liking life again._

_ Because I don't know if I'll keep coping and keep liking this life. Is it just waiting to be the _source_ of the depression instead of the _cover _for it? _

She walked to Spike's car, thoughts piling up rapidly. _Waitressing all the time, a day off once in three and a half months, living in these terrible cheap apartments- sure this one isn't so bad, but that's 'cause Spike pays for half of everything. If he leaves... I don't think I want to live by myself again. Not with a new roommate either. Not on my own in some slum hovel._

_Weird how it turned out to be Spike that made it bearable. So much I hate about him. But there are things I like, too. The laughing. Being able to talk to him about anything. _A flash of Willow's eager, attentive face danced in front of her eyes, her former and much beloved confidant. She pushed the image away.

_I came here to die. Tried it. Didn't happen. _ She climbed in next to Spike, who also seemed quiet and lost in his own thoughts. _If this is where I wanted to die- where do I go to start living again?_

To be continued...


	14. Chapter 14

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: I've played with the time frame a little bit here. In canon, it appears that Faith and Angel both arrive in Sunnydale in October. I have Buffy and Spike still living in LA at the end of October, so assume things in canon are thrown back by a month or so. _

_Author's Third Note: Don't panic. It's not over._

_Dedicated to Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, BabyFaith18, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, MaryZaa, Jewel74, Lyzzybelle, and the madara's little sister._

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them. In this case, Aerosmith's "Dream On" is used._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part XIV**

Things were in a holding pattern. Another week of movie nights, morning notes, sometimes sex, often snarking, more often joking. Nerves were got on, and then just as quickly, nerves learned to deal with it. They hadn't had a big fight since the night of their "Duel to the Death".

They were getting closer together, yet, seemed to be drawing further apart inside their minds. Waking up to the realities of where they were. In the stages of grief, they'd finally reached acceptance. Acceptance meant time to put the past behind them- not let it go, but use it to start something new.

The hard part now was not living in this cyclical, survivalist life which had become a lot less monotonous and a lot more than survival, but realizing that two warriors had healed. Had healed enough to rejoin the battle of the lives they were meant to lead.

Neither one really thought the lives of a mugger and a waitress sharing rent controlled housing were their destinies. The problem was that both of them had told destiny to shut up and piss off months ago, since it didn't play fair and hurt them so badly.

They thought these things, in their own heads, as she shuffled through another day of tips and tables, and he prowled through another night of alleyways and stolen money.

Why didn't they share? They'd begun to share everything else, deep thoughts, deep emotions, grieved together, laughed together, slept together and woke up beside each other often as not. What would be so bad about exploring the idea that they knew something wasn't right?

They tried. Every time one of them began to seriously consider discussing the nagging, pestering ideas about change and moving on- one word stopped them.

For Buffy, it was _Him_.

For Spike, it was _Her._

And a single thought. _I'd have to give this up. _

A single question of balance. _Is this life enough for me, if we could stay together, keep this unique thing we have, or will I always be wondering if there was supposed to be something more?_

Maybe it was those inner thoughts and questions that made them on edge. Or maybe it was just that they were looking for an excuse to fall over it.

* * *

"You're going to make Ed come up here!" Buffy shouted into Spike's room.

"What?" He asked, folding his jeans over a hanger. Trisha had finally persuaded him to take some of her extra ones and hang things up instead of squashing them into the tiny dresser he had in his pre-furnished room.

"Turn it down!" Buffy came in and turned the stereo off with a click. "My ears were bleeding."

"Ooh, yummy." Spike leaned over and nipped her lobe. "I'll turn it down. Not off." He flipped the CD back on and turned it down a single notch. Aerosmith blared so loudly it reverberated the wire hangers.

"Spike!" Buffy put her hands to her ears.

"This should be the Ramones, but no. Someone took that." He fixed her with a feral smile.

"If I give it back, will you turn it down?" She hollered.

"Maybe."

"You're being a jerk!"

"That's me, Cutie."

"Oh my God." She shook her head and left the room. The noise swelled behind her and she stomped back in and bent to pull the plug.

Iron fingers tightened on her wrist. "Don't." A single word, like silk, but dangerous, right against her ear.

She didn't know why she suddenly felt wet. Her fingers grabbed the cord anyway- but before she could tug it from the wall, she was spinning back and up.

"I said, 'Don't'." Spike held her against him. "You don't listen."

"Maybe I just couldn't _hear _over the noise." She pulled her arm free. The wetness was now a puddle inside her.

It was adrenaline. She hadn't had that feeling in a long, long time. Things were peaceful between them. Even this little grab and snap was still friendly. Friendly-ish, anyway.

Sinewy white fingers reached out and lowered the volume. "Better?" His tongue did that sinful roll and tuck behind his teeth as he gave her a devil's smile.

"Yes. Thank you." She said in a soft, constricted voice.

They stood staring, inches apart, trying to figure out the strange atmosphere in the room.

_Every time when I look in the mirror_

_All these lines on my face getting clearer_

_The past is gone_

_It went by, like dusk to dawn_

_Isn't that the way_

_Everybody's got the dues in life to pay_

Words failed. The atmosphere became almost oppressive and Spike turned the volume back up, not to an obnoxious level, just enough.

"Spike-"

"Covers the noise." He growled and grabbed her.

She grabbed him back, desperate, tearing at each other, falling back onto the bed.

_I know nobody knows_

_Where it comes and where it goes_

"Missed you today." He bit her jugular softly with smooth, blunt teeth.

"You, too. Oh, you, too..." _I'd miss this. Wouldn't I miss this? Would I miss it enough?_

_I know it's everybody's sin_

_You got to lose to know how to win_

_Everybody loses. Everybody wins. Something. Question is, what's the prize now? _Clothes off, bed under their backs, not speaking. Just frantic, diving kisses, clawing hands.

_Half my life_

_Is book's written pages_

_Live and learn from fools and_

_From sages_

_You know it's true, oh_

_All these things you do- come back to you_

Buffy's mind was churning as they sank smoothly, but aggressively into position. _We could do this. We could- we could stay together. This life is good enough. Only- you can hide from it, you can run from it. You can even find someone to keep you sane while you're falling apart. But it all does come back. And you can't run forever. Some you let go of. Some you forget. Some you go back and face... _"Spike." She rasped, voice suddenly getting thick.

"Shhhh."

_Sing with me, sing for the years_

_Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears_

He kissed her eyelids, he kissed her mouth, and they smiled, before closing their eyes, and giving in._ Take this ride now. It's all going to end soon. _A sudden phrase burned in his head, but didn't come out of his mouth. He didn't think it was real. He didn't think she'd like it if it was.

_Sing with me, just for today_

_Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away_

_Yeah, sing with me, sing for the years_

_Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears_

_Sing with me, just for today_

_Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away_

_I should tell him. But it's not true. But I do. In some way. Maybe he'll know._ She hugged him tight, so tight, and urged him faster and faster with squeezes inside her. _If we could just stay locked in this second..._

_Dream on_

_Dream on_

_ It's been a nightmare. She got me through it. Of course I do feel that way. In some way. A different way. But it's time to wake up._ Spike pounded into her, a furious pace, evading the end.

_Dream on_

_Dream until your dreams come true_

The tracks changed and their pace went from furious, to frantic, the positions reversed, her on top, then him again, not speaking, caught in nets of silent thoughts, until he grabbed her hands off his shoulders and kissed them, clasping them to his lips, eyes closed, lids quivering.

And she knew that look. She pressed a hand to his cheek, eyes smiling down at him in a soothing way, quieting the riot in both their minds.

They came in united splendor, two wild beasts unleashed. Then she reached over and turned off the music. No more noise cover. No more any cover.

"Wow."

"And a half." Spike panted, breathless without breath. "You give a man a workout."

"I'll see your workout and raise you a marathon. I can't walk now." She whined. They both laughed breathlessly, and smiled.

It was amazing. From battle ready to passion-soaked, to laughing and kidding again. It was good. It wasn't perfect, but it was good. So why wasn't it enough?

Buffy sighed and laid an affectionate hand on his slick chest, wet with her sweat. "We'll always do this, won't we? Things are easy with you." She smiled, but her voice held a note, ever so faint, but a note of discontent. As though she wanted so badly to be wholly pleased and at peace, yet some tiny, not quite definable thing kept bothering her.

"Don't you want it to be easy?" He asked the loaded question.

"Yeah. I do. But-" _I want this. I want more than this. I- I don't know what I want. I went from having so much, to nothing, and now this. I'm in some kind of middle and I want to find my way out. _

He watched her make several attempts to speak, her eyes either slitting in concentration or widening as she thought of a good way to put it- then her eyes would slide hopelessly to his face and she was silent again. "You don't have to tie yourself in knots, Luv. This is still a half-life. Things are missing. Stuff isn't done." _We go on. We get by. We enjoy it. But we're hidin' out. _

She gave him a supremely grateful look for understanding her. For sparing her the pain of explaining herself, because God knows, no one else seemed to manage to just accept her without asking her to change, find answers to give. "But I- I'm happy. You know?" She swallowed. "With _you_."

"Happy with you, too." He returned with equal fervidity.

The next words were pulled unwillingly from her lips, barely audible. "Scares me."

"I know." _Scares me, too._

"And- and maybe I could deal with it better if- if this was me."

"An' this isn't you?" He raised his scarred eyebrow slowly.

"This isn't _all _of me. I'm- I'm not Buffy all the time, I'm Anne at work, there's some - some of that 'slayer' stuff, too, I lie all the time..." She trailed off.

Spike knew what was happening. He had dreaded it and been waiting for it. Just like he'd been waiting to kill or be killed, waiting to both live and die, cave and rise. The moment they decided go on together- or go separate ways. And yet it wouldn't be out of a lack of - of liking each other.

The pale man sighed. "I know that, too. This isn't all of me, either. I'm not a house cat, I'm s'posed to be wild, untrained. Not drinking out of a bag." He said gravely, and waited for her rebuke after that last little reminder of what he was, what he wanted to be, but it never came. She just nodded traced a fingertip up and down his arm, shoulder to wrist.

"Things are so good. Now that they changed. I just worry that if they keep changing-"_ I'll lose this. If I leave, I'll lose it, too. But not good memories. That's it, I worry that we'll ruin it, that something will crack, and I won't even be able to look back on this with any kind of good thought. Or maybe I'd ruin it because I'd always be wondering about "what ifs"..._

In her silence, he finished her thought, because it was his own thought as well. "We can't keep gambling. This was good, Buffy. _Is_ good." He caught the hand tracing his arms, and held onto it. "I don't want it to get ruined. Too many things get ruined for us."

She nodded. "I don't want to-" sniffles suddenly manifested, "I don't want to go away from _you_. But we can't live like we have been, not together, not as ourselves. We're not just living half-lives anymore, we're feeling- I don't know- alive, and ready to rejoin the living, or in your case the undead. At least to try? But we sit still, like we're still waiting."

"What do you want to do?" _Tell me to stay- and I'd try to stay. Tell me to leave- and I'm ready. Almost ready._

_I don't know! Doesn't he know I don't know? Well, I do know one thing I want to do._ "Not ruin this.

"Given." It was his turn to swallow. "You know- you've gotten better. Your folks in Sunnydale might've gotten better too. He'll never be back, Buffy. But you'd still have people to be with there."

She shook her head instantly. "I can't."

"You want to be alone again?"

"No." _No. Not after him. Not after this._

He wasn't some life coach, not some motivational speaker._ I don't give a bloody damn about people's lives. So why am I about to say what I'm about to say?_ "Try. You could try with them. They want you back." He kept speaking, the words coming out like solid truths even though they surprised him as he spoke, "I'm gonna try with Dru. She doesn't want me back- but we've had time apart, maybe she's thought about it, maybe she'll understand what I did, maybe I can explain it better. Hey, if things go south- we tried." He smiled into her doubting, worried eyes. "Might as well try, right? Aren't we the unstoppable ones? Who else could do it if not us?"

Buffy laughed against his arm, unable to argue with that. "Yeah. So. W-we go." Her voice trembled.

"I guess we do."

In unison they moved to clutch each other closer. Spike's room was hot, airless, no window, the ancient and overtaxed central air only feebly struggling along. Yet they both suddenly felt cold and shivery. Buffy's head nudged under his jaw, and he sank his chin to her soft shining hair.

_This feels wrong, leaving him. But staying here doesn't feel right. Like he said, we're hiding out. Can't be with someone if you're hiding from yourself, right?_

It never occurred to her that try as she might, she'd never been successful at hiding from _Spike_.

Spike licked his dried out lips. "We might as well wait until the end of the month."

Buffy's head jerked up, eyes bright. "We did already pay."

"We've gotta give some notice if we want the get the security deposit back, right?"

"Right." She nodded in relief. She was ready. Sure she was. Almost.

Spike caught her sigh, stole it from her mouth with a heated kiss. "Might as well make the best use of the time, right?"

* * *

There was a concentrated effort made in those last few weeks that neither of them mentioned. Spike hunted after she was asleep, and came right back. He slipped silently out from between her sheets and silently back in, the last thing she saw at night, first thing when she woke up.

She went to work on time and left on time. No extra hours there. She sped home on unnaturally fast feet, if she had the need. Usually, she'd find a black car waiting in the shadiest spot available.

They watched all the movies, and then borrowed some of Ed's and watched them, too. They listened to all the CDs. Buffy finally told Spike where his precious Ramones album was- in the crisper drawer.

"Clever bitch." He scowled.

"You never looked." She winked.

Funny how neither one of them thought it was strange to be slow dancing in the small, sparsely furnished living room during that discussion.

They slept together on a nightly basis. She learned a lot from her one-time enemy. Though apparently, according, to Spike, she had no need of a teacher. She was naturally affectionate and open, passionate and playful.

Sex should be like that. Fun. Happy. It would have been perfect, if they'd been in love.

_But we're not. Never can be. Never would work long term. Let's not kid ourselves, it doesn't even work short term. This is just a sick, twisted miracle. Even miracles don't last._

* * *

Fate screamed as loud as it could, stamped its intangible feet, railed its insubstantial fists, and finally crashed its head into the glass ceiling of the blindness of two beings in front of them.

_ Fine. Let them do as they like, as they believe they should. These two only learn the hard way._

* * *

"Oh. I- I still have one of my name tags." Buffy found the small placard into her pocket.

"Did they have a going away party for you?" Spike slid one of his now empty ashtrays into a shopping bag, as he had no suitcases or duffles of his own.

"They had a cake that was less stale than usual." Buffy folded her last pair of jeans and put them in her now full suitcase, looking at her now empty closet. She felt like ice was in her stomach. Like she was going to be sick. "I should probably give this back." She fiddled with her name tag.

"Why? How many Annes do you think she has? Jus' hold on to it."

"Keep it. Like a souvenir?" Buffy fumbled with it and finally slid it into her purse in the inner zipper pocket, where her stake and her ring still lived.

Spike slid his second ashtray and _Babe_ into her suitcase when her back was turned. More souvenirs. He had her shampoo and their Aerosmith CD tucked in the bottom of his shopping bag for the same reasons. "Yeah. Like a little reminder of all our good times."

Her eyes, which had finally stopped hiding their light, were empty sockets again. She didn't want reminders of being a waitress. She wanted reminders of being with Spike. The worst months of her life that had turned into a lot of good moments. "I'm not gonna tell anyone about this. Okay?" She spoke to her bag, not able to look at him.

"God, no!" Spike sounded utterly horrified.

"Not that I- hey!"

Spike chuckled dryly. "I don't regret it- but I don't think it's something I plan on talking about. You don't either. No harm, no foul." He shrugged.

"Never happened?" She turned to face him.

"Well- we can pretend it didn't." _Don't do that. Don't say that. It'd break my heart if she- oh don't talk rubbish. _He gave a coarse sniff in and began searching for a cigarette.

"I don't want to pretend that. I just want to keep it to myself." She hugged her arms across her chest and rubbed them. It was the late October chill, that dusky time of night when the sun faded, and the breezes blew, she thought. The time where the air was off, but the California heat wasn't abrasive. That wasn't why she shivered, she knew that, but she chose to ignore it. "Not like a bad thing, Spike. Like a nice memory. Okay- and some bad ones. A lot of annoying ones." Her brow wrinkled. "Wow. A _lot_ of annoying ones."

He smiled again. She could make him smile at the strangest times. "You're ruining the tender moment, Buffy."

She flung her arms around him impulsively. "I'll miss you!" Then she shoved him back. "Stay away from me though- I can't let you kill people and if I see you doing anything vampy..."

"I might just bite 'em from now on." He lied. She kicked his shins lightly. "It's a thought!" He defended.

She forced herself to be calm, to speak for his safety. Interesting how she'd come to worry about that. "Don't come back to town." She pushed him another step or two away, and it was so much more painful than she'd imagined it would be. But no, it was right. He had a chance to go back, restrengthened, and get his true love, his Drusilla, back. If she had the chance to reunite with Angel- she would want that. With no one from the past, especially one who had once been responsible for so much pain- to come back. "It'll all go better, if we stay away, right?" _Away from each other._

"Very probably. So- I promise. I'll keep away. I'll never talk about it, only think of it. You let me live my life, I'll let you live your life. You'll never see me again. It's a promise."

He leaned in once, kissed her softly on the lips and picked up his bags as she picked up hers.

They walked through the apartment one last time. The appliances Spike had "added" to their little flat were already in his car, along with anything else they wanted to take from the little nest they'd built. Buffy couldn't carry too much on the bus, and she was content to let him have anything he'd gotten over the course of the months. "Good to go." Spike turned off the light switch for the final time, and she locked the door after him.

"Yep. Good to go." _No. Bad to go. But have to go. I can't stay here anymore. Faced one demon. Gotta go face the rest._

Without any discussion of it, they turned towards the staircase instead of the elevator. They chose to walk the eleven flights down, even though the elevator wasn't broken- this week. It was a silent walk, full of echoing steps and unsaid reminders and memories, and the pounding of her heart, the acid bubbling in her stomach, the ragged little noises he kept making when he did his shadow breathing.

"Oh yeah." Spike shouldered the lobby door open for her whilst fumbling in his coat pocket. He pulled out an envelope. "It's your half. Ed gave me it earlier when I went to say goodbye."

"Thanks." Buffy took the envelope from his hand. The money inside was her insurance policy. If no one wanted her back home- well at least she'd know it, and she had money to start again. She was almost positive it wouldn't play out that way. Still, after months of living hand to mouth, she appreciated the little bolster.

It was more bolster than she knew or would allow. Spike had put his full share in her envelope as well. He could get money quickly, and wasn't scrupulous about how he did it. He hadn't told her Giles was actively searching her out, that he knew for sure she'd be welcomed home like the beloved lost daughter she was. Just in case, though. The money was just in case. "Keys?"

"Here." Buffy handed him her small mailbox key and her house key. Spike put his two with them and slid them into the night drop box in Ed's office door. "It was nice of him to tell us to just take our time."

"Nice bloke." Ed had given them until midnight that night to clear out, against the rules. He said he trusted them. He'd said that they made a nice couple. _Maybe we could have been. If things were different. _

"He said we made a good couple." Spike decided to share that with her. He didn't think it was the best time, but he'd never see her again. Better mention it now.

"Yeah. He was nice to us. A nice guy." She smiled faintly._ Maybe we would have been. If this life was really what we wanted. What we chose. Not where we ran, to hide from the lives we actually have. _

She pushed open the glass front door for him this time. He passed through asking, "You want a lift to the bus station?"

"No." She shook her head, regretfully, small smile in place.

He twitched his neck awkwardly, wondering why he was trying to prolong what has finally come to a suitable end. "I can drive you back. It's just a few hours."

She denied the temptation. "Spike, no. You just promised me- you wouldn't come back there."

"So I did. Guess this is goodbye, then." They'd made it to the car, always parked at the far end of the lot, in the shadows cast by the next apartment block.

"Guess so."

Her hands were full, his arms were full. She walked close, and he leaned forward. Their hug was a "chest butt", with necks craned to nudge each other.

"Oh, what the hell." Spike dropped his bags- and Buffy dropped hers to catch them. "Buffy!"

"Your luggage is full of glass." She reminded him rolling her eyes, putting the bags down gently, bottles sloshing and clinking.

"Still got the moves." He set her bags gently upright.

"Yep. Good team. Sometimes."

"I'm gonna miss you."

"Miss you, too." Her voice thickened as her pretty lips spasmed.

With mutual suddenness, they grabbed for one another, and pulled themselves into a tight, swaying hug, her head on his chest, discreetly wiping the corners of her eyes, hiding it under the gesture of a particularly deep nuzzle.

He tugged on her hair. "Lemme see a smile." He cajoled, trying to keep one on his own face.

Buffy looked up and they exchanged a bittersweet smile which blossomed into a sad sort of laugh as they surveyed each other. Two such messed up lives, or lack of lives, and they'd brought each other back. So much they hated. So much they liked. Maybe mostly things they'd both learned to overlook. Bittersweet indeed.

Laughter quelled as the seconds slipped by, and they realized they were at that point. The door to purgatory swung wide, just waiting for them to cross through, back to the land of real life.

She pushed herself up on her toes as he grunted determinedly. Lips crashed, then softened. Arms circled and closed.

Minutes fell away, and a blaring car horn in a nearby street jarred them back to the bustle of the city they both desperately wanted to leave behind.

"See you." Buffy whispered.

"No, you won't. I promised." He squeezed her elbows with his strong, cool hands, and stepped away, tucking a final hair behind her ear, figuring, _knowing_, he'd never get to do it again.

They bobbed their heads in tense, jerky nods. So much to say. But no more you have to say, if you want to get on with your life. Without them in it. Every second just made it harder to leave.

"Bye, Spike."

"Take care, Pet. Buffy."

* * *

She made her way to the bus station. She heard his car sputter to life, and with a crunch of gears and then a solid roar, purr away.

He couldn't see out his rearview mirror. Back windscreen was painted over. Just as well. Didn't want to see her walking away.

Both of them set their faces towards old lives, now new in a way. They felt some sadness that they'd never have expected to feel. So why the hints of smiles playing on their lips?

Possibly because they both knew how well Spike kept promises about staying gone. He might intend to never see her again. He definitely hadn't intended to after the last promise he'd given her.

It seemed Fate didn't always like his intentions.

_To be concluded..._


	15. Chapter 15

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: I've played with the time frame a little bit here. In canon, it appears that Faith and Angel both arrive in Sunnydale in October. I have Buffy and Spike still living in LA at the end of October, so assume things in canon are thrown back by a month or so._

_Author's Third Note: Maybe a bit anitclimactic. But that's how I think it needs to be._

_Dedicated to Cavementftw, Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, BabyFaith18, Lynbie, Illusera, Anne, MaryZaa, Jewel74, Lyzzybelle, a-stranger-angel, Babe Ruthless, the madara's little sister, pepperikeys and Blade Redwind._

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them. In this case, Aerosmith's "Dream On" is used._

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

**Part XIV**

_Early November_

It didn't take him long to track her down. He had debated about making a big splashy entrance, come roaring in with carcasses of her former dalliances, or some rare treasure to lay at her feet. Or maybe waiting for months, making a bigger and badder name for himself (if that were possible), maybe even making himself such an amazingly glorious new kingdom of blood and carnage that she'd come back to him, or he could present himself to her without fear of rejection.

But the longer he debated, the more obvious it became that he shouldn't have to do any such thing, not if he had a clear conscience, not if he expected her to act like a lover should act.

He had been in control of their lives before, the brains and the muscle, while she was the sparkle and the lash driving them on to new depths. When he heard where she was, when he heard she was alone, no consorts, no lovers, simply alone, he decided to meet her the same way. On his own.

He should be enough. He _was_ enough.

"Hello, Princess." He greeted her in the garden of the crumbling stone house she was now living in, tucked on the outskirts of a busy Brazilian city only a few hundred miles from where they'd parted months ago.

She turned, girlish joy in her voice, pale face with her beautiful cat-like eyes shining. "My William! I knew you'd come back."

Gratitude and relief absolutely choked him, but he swallowed it down, making his voice that husky purr he used for her, and her alone. "Hmm, of course you did. Can't keep us apart."

"Princess was lonely without her sweet William." She held her arms out to him, stretched , but dangling, like she was floating, or held by strings.

Spike knew better. She was merely waiting. So was he. He swept her up, swung her into his arms, head bowed to her narrow bust, inhaling the scent of her, like night blooming flowers, pomegranates, and something cold and indefinable, purely Drusilla, his queen. Waiting for her king. He could forgive anything for her, to hear her say she loved him. Loved him only. "Princess never need be lonely again. Your William's home."

"Mm," she swirled her arms around him, pulling him closer, heads together, twin smiles of dark pleasure gracing pale lips, "and I'm so glad."

He kissed her, hungrily, sighing, the agony of all his worries finally melting off him. He laughed his low, gurgling laugh, deep and gleeful. "We have so much time to make up for, don't we?" He ran his hands down the bodice of the gauzy dress she wore.

Her hands danced their way across his shoulders, down his chest, a naughty gleam in her eyes. "Oh yes. I can forgive you now."

Her voice had a singsong quality he'd long ago learned meant more than her usual madness was manifesting. "Enjoying being alive, are you, Pet?" He queried, knowing a discordant note would eventually have to sound in their reunion, just hating that it had to happen. Inevitable things were not always pleasant.

She giggled, lightly bopping his nose with one slender finger. "Life is simply _delicious._ Drink lots and lots of it." Her eyes went even wider, and he sank gladly in their depths, could almost taste the blood rush, could smell what real prey was like. He felt alive again.

"We'll hunt for weeks. We'll have our own safari, shall we?" He breathed out against her wrist, seizing her hand, trailing kisses down her arm and back up to her fingers.

She yipped gleefully. "Yes, yes, a glorious hunt!" She tugged her hands free and traced them over his hair, that singsong tone reasserting itself, eyes now mischievous. "Life is sweet. And we can enjoy as we were meant to."

"Yes, Princess, just-"

"Now that Daddy'll be home soon."

He started like someone had threw holy water over him. Mad or not, there was no way he was about to put up with this again. This weeping and wailing over Angelus, her "dear daddy", and now to put up with delusions of him coming back. His voice was harsh as he pried his head from her hands. "He's _dead_, Dru. He's in _hell,_ Dru." He reminded her in bitter, biting tones. A flash of Buffy's tearstained face flashed before his eyes and he shoved it angrily down. Sorry for her loss, but delighted for his own.

Dru giggled like a child with a particularly naughty secret, Then the laughter dropped away as her voice became mystical, and she swayed, her hands cleaving the air, mirroring her words. "Ahhh, but he climbs. He climbs and slashes, seven layers, all seven layers-" She paused, eyes dreamy again, hands still. "All seven layers, like a cake. Life's the icing." She licked a finger and then smiled evilly. "And _she's_ the cherry."

Oh God. She wasn't delusional, she truly was "seeing". Seven layers of hell, Angel crawling up through , Spike supposed, loving Buffy as Angel did, he might just be able to fight his way from hell, back to life. All to get the girl. His mind reeling, Spike muttered to himself, "S'pose she _is_ pretty cherry..."

Dru's claws raked his across his eyelid and down his cheek with the sudden reaction of a striking cat. She let out a scream of fury as her hand connected. "Naughty naughty, tasting Daddy's fruit!"

Spike seized her wrist sharply, no longer cowering from her accusations. They were true now. He turned to face a mildly disconcerted looking Dru, her eyes going from wild to curious. His own expression was dangerous, like a wounded animal. He inhaled, nostrils aquiver, the scent of blood and her. He licked his lip where blood was flowing, and then licked the fingertips that had done the damage. "Don't be silly, Princess- I like my juicy, wicked ripe plum." He jerked her waist to his, and she lapped his cheek like she had done so many, many times before. He bucked against her, making sure she could feel exactly how much he missed his sweet, black goddess.

She laughed and fell limply over his arm, hands still on his chest, her own hips dancing with his. "Ooh, William. Naughty, naughty William..."

He smirked. "I'm your bad dog, aren't I, Baby?"

"Mmm, yes, dangerous, bad dog. He bites." She snapped her teeth shut inches from his lips.

"You bet I do." Spike sunk his fangs into her neck, and they were one, happy together, swaying amorously in the dark.

But part of his mind wandered into the light. Just for a moment. To wonder if Buffy was happy too, and shockingly realizing he wasn't going to be happy if she wasn't.

His closed eyes flew open, and his drinking slowed. This was the life he'd led, the love he'd had.

It wasn't enough, wasn't right, wasn't what he wanted. Not any longer. His world rocked, even though he held on tightly to his beloved, feeding from her in a vampiric kiss.

Suddenly, he could taste the ashes.

* * *

_Late November_

Buffy struggled with conflicting emotions. Joy. Overwhelming joy, soul feeling so much relief it literally hurt, felt like it might split open with happiness- and yet she had to hide it.

He was back. He was a wreck, a little more beast than man at this point, but back, and healing, and the first words he'd said, in that broken, heaving voice? "Buffy." He loved her. He came back to her. She'd killed him, sent him to hell, but he was still in love with her. Forgave her, accepted she must not have had a choice. She could tell by the way he clung to her. Then in his kiss.

She had miraculously had the worst moment of her entire life erased, or negated, or something where it was not permanent. She wanted to wear a t-shirt that said "Ask me about how freaked yet happy I am!"

Only she couldn't. Because Xander, Willow, Oz, Cordelia, they were wigged and one step away from wanting to send him straight back out of this world. Giles said he understood, but that she had endangered them all by keeping a secret. He was disappointed. He was worried for their safety.

He was the only one who had truly made her feel safe and welcome and non-judged when she returned. And she'd let him down.

Her mother- oh, God, her mother didn't even know, but when she found out- her scream might break sound barriers. Her mother welcomed her back with open arms and love. And conditions. And suspicion. Some days it was all she had to keep from running. But she couldn't run away again. Oh, her mom and her friends hinted at it, watched her like she might. They didn't know she couldn't run away again. Running away was no longer a solo activity.

Flashes of a certain smart ass smile made her straighten her spine. An English voice, not manicured and elegant like Giles', more tough and streetwise, whispered in her inner ear. "We're unstoppable."

So she refused to be stopped.

She didn't refuse to be angry or feel annoyed at the way the people in her life reacted. The anger and accusations over Angel, and the comparisons of her to Faith made her want to scream. Faith. New Girl. Ultimate Slay Gal. Buffy refused to embrace slaying again. She did it for the protection of life, the mission she had abandoned that needed to be picked up because her friends were trying to do it themselves and were all going to get killed if she didn't help.

Faith stepped in as the Slayer, and Buffy stepped back as the normal girl with a freaky power. Faith loved the hunt and the kill, and everyone loved her spark and her attitude. They didn't see Buffy's spark. They didn't know the spark came to life when she was with her sweetheart, not facing down a panel of her critics.

Buffy sighed and padded down to the kitchen for a snack. _Give them time. Give yourself time. Give Angel time. It'll all be okay. I've only been back a month, he's only been back a few weeks, Faith's brand new. It's just- mixed up. Yeah. But it'll be okay._

She kept telling herself that. That everything would work out, they would all learn to understand. Hey, if she and Spike could learn to live together and-

_No. No, let's not think about that. _

_ Let's think about not waking up Mom and peanut butter toast._

She sat at the kitchen table and tried to settle her mind down. She wanted to abandon conflicting thoughts, just for a night. What, were Slayers not allowed a mental night off?

She flicked through a catalog and a magazine and ate her toast, flipping through the day's mail.

An envelope caught her eye. Her heart sped up, her stomach twisted in an adrenaline rush that was walking the line between feeling sick and feeling excited. She tore it open. She knew that handwriting. She'd seen it almost every day for weeks.

A strip of brown paper- a piece of grocery bag, folded once, fell out onto the table. She snatched it up and unfolded it, breathing hard, hands shaking.

_I heard he's back. Happy for you._

_ W.S._

Her smile was uncontainable. Tears followed, happy single drops from each eye. Someone who got it. Who just _knew_ it. Spike was happy for her. She clutched the paper and slid it back in the envelop and took it upstairs with her.

No questions. No digs. No asking if it was safe, right, okay, allowable, dangerous- just simply "happy for her".

The tears changed into bittersweet ones unexpectedly. She held the letter to her chest. She didn't want to let it go. She didn't want to say the thoughts she was thinking.

_I miss you. I miss you so much._

She examined the envelope up in her room. No return address. American stamp. Maybe he was back in the states? Maybe he'd never left. She couldn't write him back. She probably shouldn't have wanted to. So she thought, really hard, and hoped somehow, in that really annoying way he had, that he could read her mind this time.

_I hope you're happy too, Spike._

* * *

_Late May_

Buffy came into the empty house, shaking. She fell to her knees almost immediately and finally let out all the pain. Head bowed to the hall rug, she sobbed in silence, pain too deep for sounds to claw their way out of it.

He left. She didn't understand. No one understood- but everyone but her was relieved. The lack of sympathy was enough to mow her down- if she hadn't already been so far past the bottom. There was only one time she'd been lower, and she'd had help climbing back up.

She stopped thinking about Spike. She thought about him on and off. More on than off. Her shampoo never failed to remind her of their arguments, and that often led to her half-guilty feelings about what arguments could lead to. A glass ashtray, clean and full of her earrings, sat on her dresser. The one and only note from him was folded inside the case of a movie she watched at least once a month.

_I really need to stop thinking about him. Because he's not there to pull me up this time. I'm the one. I can do it._ Buffy got off her knees and tried to think positively, something she had not been able to do the last time her life had fallen apart.

_Mom's safe and loving life at a B&B. Probably worried sick, but there are nice antiques to distract her. _Her friends were safe. Giles was safe. They'd all hugged and congratulated each other on a victory, eaten pizza, and made their way home. The last seven months had been rough, but livable. She, Willow, and Xander got closer after pulling farther apart. Angel got better. Her mom stopped watching her every step like she was about to bolt for the nearest exit.

Faith proved to be _not _the awesome cool new girl. But that didn't matter. Faith died about three hours ago, brain hemorrhage. Her fault. She stabbed her, she fell off a building, she lived for a few days in a coma, and then something burst. The doctors called Giles- for some reason Faith still had him listed as an emergency contact- and told them there was nothing they could've done. So another Slayer died.

_I killed someone. A human. An evil human. That doesn't matter, that's what Faith did. Oh God, am I turning into her? No, of course not, I feel bad, she didn't. Well, she did but she was acting like she didn't. Whatever. I am _not _like that. Am I going to stab someone every year and have them die? _Buffy made her way up to her room, slow trudging steps.

_He's gone. He left. He dumped me. Broke up with me. But I never thought he'd go. But he's gone. _Each step seemed harder to climb than the last. She'd had this lead-weight limbed feeling before. Eleven flights worth. Lots of times before and after. Exhaustion so deep it felt like involuntary body motions were going to quit, because breathing and making your heart beat was just too much work.

_I don't understand. If you say you love me- why leave me? And if this is graduation day, isn't it supposed to be a major turning point in my life? Why am I back on incredibly horrible street?_

She flopped down on her bed, in the dark, still in her acrid smelling clothes, her charred diploma crinkling in her pocket.

_One year later. Love lost. Love found. Love gone away. He won't tell me where. He won't say goodbye. But he's gone. Death can't stop him, but the idea of me keeping a drawer of stuff at his place will make him run far, far away. _She looked at her finger. Ringless again. She didn't carry it with her these days.

_ One year later. The world's most awkward Thanksgiving, the world's most angsty Christmas with Angel trying to flambé himself in the name of redemption. The birthday from _hell_. I'm actually an adult now and my parents still treat me like a kid. _

_ One year later. Mom disappointed in me and threw me out- Mom still doesn't accept me, and thinks something is wrong with me. Faith came. Faith went evil. Faith died. Xander, Willow, Oz, Cordy... I left them all. We all got back together- and now they're all going to leave me. Willow to college in Boston, Xander to see America, Cordy to New York City to be an actress, Oz on tour with his band. Giles is here. Giles is always here. Giles is going to have his hands full. He'll have a new Slayer to train, and he'll have an old, mopey, burnt out one to try to make into a fighter again. That poor guy. He's scraped me up and put me back together three times in three years. I think we both need a break._

Only life didn't hand out breaks without taking them away again. Only one break she'd ever willingly let go- and it had promised never to come back.

In a routine that was sadly familiar, Buffy got up, showered, and liberally doused herself with the cheap brand of shampoo she still insisted on using even though she could now afford better. Then she got in her comfy sweats and dug in her closet. When she emerged, she had_ Babe _in one hand, and she retrieved Mr. Gordo from the bed.

She went downstairs and wrapped herself in a big, cushy quilt and put in her movie while popping popcorn.

While eating, she smiled, as she always did, at the plucky little pig. As the movie went on, she realized two things.

Out of all the things she had lost, the things she missed, was miserable feeling about- the one that she couldn't shake was the only one she shouldn't care about. Spike. She wished he was here with her. Wrong as that might be, as insubstantial as that was in comparison to everything else- she did wish for it. She missed him with a powerful, body hunching ache that seemed lodged in both her stomach and heart.

The second thing she realized was- in spite of everything, when she thought of Spike, she was happy.

_Wait a minute. Happy? No, no. I can't be happy. Remember that life? That stupid apartment, the health hazard diner? Barely being able to afford food, let alone cable? Living on tips, never speaking to anyone? That made you happy?_

_ No. Watching one of the worst vampires of all time spill paint on his head made me laugh. Crawling into bed with him made me feel wanted and close to someone again. Waking up next to him made me start to trust in love again. Grocery shopping, singing really badly out of tune in the shower together, fighting over the last wing, finding notes every night or every morning, learning how to make laundry fluffy, and finding out that Spike dances when he listens to music as long as he thinks no one is watching. That's what made me happy._

The bowl of popcorn fell from her hand.

_I came back to this life- with the friends, and the school, and the nice big house and the people who are supposed to love me- and even my first love- and I'm not happy? _

_ Boy, am I an ungrateful jerk._

_ But I'm an honest one._

_ Everything that I should want doesn't fit. I got to look at my life, I got to get out of the "half-life" I was living. Who would have thought the half-life, with a certain other half on the team, would make that the "right" life?_

She scraped up the popcorn in a stupor. She tried very hard not to beat herself up. She'd had to come back. She'd had to find out the hard way, to know for sure. Now she knew. Unfortunately, now she'd lost the chance to choose Option B.

_What chance? Spike is probably really happy with Drusilla and he's living large and being the big bad of someplace far away. _

_ Good for him. I hope he's happy. _

With a sad little smile, she rewound the movie, and decided to watch it again.

* * *

Spike hung up the phone. He didn't know what had made him call to check. No, of course he knew.

It wasn't a secret who he was. As soon as the words "New Slayer" were heard anywhere in the demon world, people found was like sicking a bloodhound on a new quarry. If there's a new slayer, find Spike. He'll hunt her down. But "New Slayer" meant "Old Slayer died." When he was in that demon cantina in Mexico, and someone started babbling to him about the "New Slayer", he almost died himself.

He was alone now. Dru'd left him again, and he missed her, but he didn't really care the way he had. No, once he'd tasted the ashes for himself, he knew what she meant. You can't live without the fire. And if the fire dies, it's just ashes.

So he traveled. Worked his way up through Central America, eating and feeding, never turning, always moving, picking up a different car, still a nice black sedan model with illegally dark windows (he found he had quite a soft spot for the cartels these days), and was taking his time to get to nowhere. He wasn't pitied. He was respected and feared. And whispered about. He didn't mind the whispers.

Now the whispers were in unbelievable proportions, following him through the little hole in the wall speakeasy as he turned from the pay phone with a thousand watt smile and a shout. "Thank God. It's not Summers! It's the other one! Drinks on me!"

Demons and vampires fell silent and stared. "Well, sod you then. Get your own bloody drinks." He stormed out of the bar without a backwards glance, and sped into the night.

He'd had the life. The life of devoted lover and passionate mate. It had burned itself out. No one's fault this time. Both of them had been burned by different kinds of fire, and like the biggest and most dangerous blazes, sometimes one firestorm consumes the other. He'd had another sort of life. The life of the king with the night as his kingdom, and no shortage of vampiresses looking to be his next queen. He scorned them all. He kept his profile high, reveling in the hushed voices that followed his appearance. _Don't mess with Spike. He's killed two slayers and made the other one work with him to take out Angelus. Yes, _the_ Angelus. And yes, _that _Slayer. That's him, there. The legendary William the Bloody._

So how come he'd have traded it all in for a bit of DIY, a bag of cow's blood, and a lift that only worked on alternating weeks?

Because of a certain little blonde.

* * *

_One week later_

"Bye, Mom! Have fun!"

"I will! Remember to lock the doors and -"

"Mom. Seriously?"

"I'm your mother. I worry." Joyce kissed Buffy's cheek and sat back in the Jeep. "Mr. Giles will keep an eye on you."

"Mom! I'm eighteen! Giles doesn't 'keep an eye on me'." Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes, I know, you saved the world. But you still can't parallel park." Joyce pinched her cheek affectionately. "Be good."

"I will." Buffy replied long sufferingly. She watched the car pull away, taking her mother off on a buying trip to San Francisco this time. "And- well- you can parallel park but you can't decapitate anyone using an exacto knife!" She called after the vehicle was safely down the block.

It was then she noticed the horrified mailman walking towards her driveway. She ducked down behind the hedge with a mortified look of her own. "Oh man. If this life doesn't get better soon- I'm calling hell to ask about their exchange program." She blushed furiously and hurried inside, to catch up on some much needed, post-world saving sleep.

* * *

When she woke, she sat up with a start. Something disturbed her. Something wasn't right. It wasn't nightmares. She had plenty of those, after all it had only been a week since her school got blown up, dozens of kids died, and a local elected official had turned into a giant snake. Nightmares were a given. But this was a sound. An unfamiliar sound.

She eased a stake into her hand and stood warily. She surveyed the room. Nothing out of place. Nothing lurking, hiding, or sending tinglies. She was about to go back to her was overdue makeup rest, when something caught her eye.

Paper. Stuck to the outside of her window. Oh God. So creepy. So Angelus. He couldn't have lost his soul again? Could he? She gripped the stake harder and opened the window with a rapidly beating heart. As soon as she touched it, her heart started beating with a completely different type of speed.

A brown bag. Folded. A little wet from the misting night air. "Where is he?" She scanned the streets, she reached out with her senses. Nothing. She smoothed out the paper and read the message inside.

_Dear Anne,_

_I heard he left. New York City, so they say in my "community". I'm sorry._

_Dru left me, too. Off to Italy this time. Funny how it doesn't hurt as bad the second time. Maybe 'cause my heart wasn't in it like before._

_Anyway._

_Kate still needs waitresses._

_Ed still has an apartment vacant._

_Trisha and Kim still watch _Passions_ in the laundry room._

_The girls in 14 B got a new cat. Milton's wearing a muzzle._

_Can't quite make ends meet on my own, though. _

_Any thoughts?_

_William Smythe_

She laughed. She laughed for the first time since she'd returned. Honestly, in seven months, not a single laugh. Now she was biting her lip and emitting these short, gasping, disbelieving laughs as she searched for a pen.

* * *

He drove past just short of sunrise. He figured she'd have waited up, but he couldn't bear to see her, in case the answer was no, or a stake to the chest. He imagined by now she might have dozed off.

The upper window had his same piece of paper in it. He didn't know if it was his message only, or if she'd added to it, but he shinned up the tree and out to the roof quickly to grab it. A quick, longing glance showed she wasn't on the bed. He didn't know where she might be, but he moved like a black blur, grabbing the paper, stuffing it in his deep pockets and racing back to his car. He waited until he was a few blocks away to read it.

_Dear William,_

_It didn't get any easier. I left all of them, but they kind of left me, too._

_I'm sorry about Dru. _

_I still have my name tag. _

_I have half the security deposit._

_Love,_

_Buffy_

* * *

The next night there was no strip of paper. Just a long, low black car, with heavily black tinted windows. Buffy laid four letters on the table, _Mom, Giles, Xan, Willow_. She picked up her two suitcases and a cardboard box full of cleaning supplies, cooking stuff, and a bunch of other things she wouldn't want to live without. She went outside to wait, standing on the porch with her hands and heart uncomfortably full.

She didn't have her boxes or bags in hand for long. With a roar and a billow of black leather, Spike emerged from the car, crossed the lawn at a run, then picked her up and hugged her.

She was laughing, smiling from ear to ear. "Hey! Put me down."

"No!" He kissed her smartly on the mouth. "Okay, now. Bloody hell, the apartments are still tiny, Buffy!" He looked at the paraphernalia she had arrived with.

"I know but this time I'm planning to stay awhile. Look. Pots, pans, and a-"

"An iron?"

"No, not the iron, the toaster."

"Where're we gonna put all this?"

The kitchen seems logical." She said dryly.

"I mean the rest of the small department store you're carryin'."

"The clothes and books and stuff can go in the spare bedroom."

His grin engulfed them both, pulling her under his arm, each of them picking up a bag in their free hand.

"Oh. It's spare now?"

"Yeah. I was thinking we could drop the 'roommate' idea."

Spike's stomach crashed to his feet. "Pardon?"

"I think the trendy term they use today is 'living together'." She smirked.

Spike let out a deep breath he hadn't known he was holding. "C'mon. Place feels empty without you."

"Good thing I'm coming home then."

"Amen." They walked in companionable silence, basking in a moment of things finally feeling right. "You- uh- you are sure?" He paused at the car, box resting on the hood.

"I'm sure."

"Your family-"

"I left letters for the important people in my life. I told them I'd be in touch, I told them if they promised to let me live my life, I'd tell them where I am." She put her suitcase at the curb with a stiff shrug.

"I heard there was a new slayer?" He threw out carelessly.

"She'll be here soon. I wrote Giles. I said I'd help with apocalypses." Feelings of guilt surged- then seeped away. There had never been two slayers in history before her. And why? Because she died, and came back, calling a newbie, and still keeping the "expert" around. She did her job. Being a slayer after you died? Well, that was just "above and beyond", and she'd hit the ceiling multiple times. "I could come visit, come help, whatever, every week, once a month. Whatever. Anything else- well, it's not a far drive, right?

"Absolutely. 'Specially not in this." Spike patted the hood of his new ride.

"So what about you?" Buffy let him open the doors, standing back a few steps, loading the bags in as he moved. "Your- your reflection and your heart not beating- and-" she fell silent. "Sorry. Probably the wrong thing to say. I just thought you'd never be okay without her."

"I didn't think I would be either." They both climbed in the car, but it remained in park. They looked forward, not at one another. "Never thought you'd let him go."

"I didn't. He left me."

"Wanker."

"I guess."

"I'm sorry, Luv."

She swallowed down a lump that seemed to come to her throat whenever she realized that Angel was gone. He'd never really been exactly back. There was so much between them, so much they knew they couldn't ever do... it was like a wall went up between his life and hers, and not even love could tear it down. "It hurts."

"B'lieve me, I know."

She smiled at him. "Every other single person in the world would get a 'You have no idea'. But not you. You _do_ know."

"Special, aren't I?" He winked with an obnoxious grin.

"Wow. I did miss you. I don't even want to slap you for that." Buffy laughed in amazement.

His hand found hers, and she squeezed it. "I missed you, too."

The playful mood had faded completely, it ebbed and flowed as it often did. That's what made it safe. Comforting. Like the tides. Riding waves together, predictably unpredictable, ups and downs. "I know he left you. If he comes back?" He let the question hang. _I can't take being left by her. I can't let her go. Not again._

"He won't be coming back." She snorted dismissively, bitterly.

"But if he does?" _Answer me. Say it's not so one sided this time. I've been love's bitch my entire existence. I'd like to just be "love's" for once._

She shook her head for a few seconds before she could speak. "Y'know, I was looking for the better part of life. 'Cause I had the bad part. The waaaaaay bad part. And then it wasn't so bad, but it still wasn't great." She licked her lips, looking sidelong at him. "I don't think anything can be good, even if it's like the ideal life- if you don't have a person to love." _Who loves you back the same. _She winced inside. _What are you saying? You love him? You want him to love you?_

_ Yes. No. Maybe. Not in the same way as Angel. But there is something to love, and I love it. And maybe I could love more. Maybe one day soon, loving something about him would change to being in love with him._

* * *

Fate rolled its eyes. Blind. Both of them. Or just very slow to see. No matter. They were starting to realize the undeniable now.

* * *

Spike felt hope inflate his cold insides and make his blood race and heat him from the inside out, all over again. "You mean, even if it's the most boring, bog standard routine in the world, and there's never much, always just enough- it's like your dream come true if you have the right person to scrape along with?"

She pouted at him. "You just had to say it all perfect, didn't you?"

"Ooh, perfect. Well, that is me."

"So not."

"Good with understandin' you though." His hand moved from hers to her arm. "Jus' like you understand me."

She nodded, and scooted across the seat. Time was slowing down, just enough to let them think as they leaned towards one another.

_Is this the one you want? This isn't just a kiss, this is changing your whole life, your whole world. This person is the deciding factor in your life. Everything will be different._

_ Everything will be better. _

Mouths met and sighs escaped.

She kept her head close to his, lips brushing as she explained. "Then I get it. You pick me over everything, if I pick you over everything, too?"

"Spot on. A happy ending." Spike kissed her again, quickly this time, heart singing along to the loudest punk rock his head could pipe in.

"That's what I want."

He put the car in gear. "I was hopin' you'd say so." They settled back in, small grins of excitement bursting to become beams. Spike chuckled and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I already told Ed I was bringin' you back with me."

She gaped at him in mock indignation. "Cocky, aren't you?"

"Only when I know I'm gonna get what I want."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Oh God. Not this again." She was laughing.

"You know you love it." His eyes twinkled at her.

"I could fall in love with it." She confessed, a little smile and shrug covering a multitude of emotions and uncertainties.

"I'm counting on it." He said with a relaxed loll, arm draping lazily around her shoulders.

"Cocky again."

"Yet sincere."

"Is it possible to be driver sick instead of car sick?"

"Buffy..."

"Spike..."

"You drive me mad."

"Awww, you missed me too!"

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. She nuzzled up close, laying a hand on his chest, and nodding.

"Honestly, Luv, I might joke, but I'm dead serious about this."

"I know that. Why else would I want to spend the rest of my life with you?"

For once, he was more than happy to let her have the last word.

_Short epilogue to follow._


	16. Chapter 16

**Living Conditions**

**By Sweetprincipale**

_Author's Note: Set in early Season Three with a few changes: Buffy is still working in LA, she never had the run-in with Lily that made her decide to go back to Sunnydale, and Spike's come back to California already. Both of them are living completely separate, unrelated lives until fate and its sick sense of humor throw them together. Part angst, part fluff, and of course, eventually a little smut._

_Author's Second Note: This is short, unremarkable. It's a simple, single glimpse ahead for those of you who wondered what would happen after the pair rides off into the moonlight._

**_Update: _**_This piece has been nominated in multiple categories at the Sunnydale Memorial Awards, Round 27. Thank you so much for showing your appreciation for the story. If you enjoyed and you'd like to participate in the voting, I thank you in advance._

_Dedicated to Cavementftw, Alexiarrose, DLillith21, ginar369, Sirius120, Mike13z50, The Three March Hares, Rosalea12, Teddybear-514, Rororogers, BabyFaith18, Lil-Leti, Lynbie, Jackiemack916, Anne, Jewel74, Lyzzybelle, a-stranger-angel, Babe Ruthless, the madara's little sister, alottalove, McPastey, pepperikeys, MaireAilbhe, and Blade Redwind._

_Direct quotes from songs or shows are obviously not mine, but owned by the talented people who created them. _

_**Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.**_

_Epilogue_

"Hello?" Buffy answered her cell phone as she crossed the parking lot.

"It's Ed's birthday tomorrow."

"I know. You told me when you got in from the game last night, and it's been on the calendar for weeks. I ordered the cake, I just have to pick it up on the way home tomorrow. Everyone'll be there at eight. Oh, Spike! Chairs?"

"I thought of that. Kim and Trish are bringing two and your mum is bringing two for her and the old man."

"Don't call Giles old, Mr. One Hundred Sixtieth next month!"

"God, I'm ancient." He groaned.

She pouted into the receiver. "_You're_ ancient? You never age. I'm in my twenties. _Mid-_twenties! I mean, it's cute when you're in your early twenties and-"

He cut her off. "You still look good to me, Baby. An' don't argue or I'll hang up."

"You mean it?"

"About hanging up?"

"No! How I look."

"Sexy. Pretty piece of flesh, thought it the second I saw you. Still think it." He purred, meaning every syllable.

"Even after all these years?" She pressed, a smile on her face. She liked to hear it, but she didn't need to. That was the best thing about life with Spike. You felt loved and beautiful, all the time, even if he didn't always say it. Though he often did.

"Even after. I'll always think it. The outside is pretty, but the inside's what made me chuck the glorious nightlife." They shared a snicker, but then his voice became serious. "I'm not in love with the pretty package, that's the bonus. I love _you_."

"Love you too, Baby. Okay, I'm getting off the elevator now. Be home in a sec."

Spike opened the door as his beloved was slipping her key in the door, shutting her cell phone. She looked startled and then beamed up into his eyes, as he was grinning down into hers. "Ahh. There she is. Hello, love of my unlife."

"Hey, Babe."

He gave her a squeeze and they shut the door behind them, settled in for a night in their little flat. "Did you get the movie?"

"Got it. You put the lasagna in?"

"Got it. All warmed up."

She watched him move into the kitchen, flicking the radio on as he passed through the living room. He watched her stepping out of her uniform, one hand reaching up the back to undo the buttons, one hand hanging her purse on the doorknob of the spare room as she headed into their bedroom.

They shared a smile, a wink, and a thought when they caught the other looking.

_This is the life._


End file.
